


redolent air // tremble and shimmer

by JoCarthage



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Antiquing, Bedsharing, Child Abuse, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gardens & Gardening, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, Hot Springs & Onsen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Prison, Team Alien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 135,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: Alex comes to the Airstream at midnight; he just wants to sleep.Pre-1x9The title is from: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54643/romantics





	1. Twelve Weeks and a Day

Alex staggered down the starlit dirt road to Michael's trailer, each step just a bit more painful that the last. He had his crutch, he had the bit between his teeth, and he wasn't going to wake Michael if he was sleeping with the roar of his truck's engine. He knew how hard sleep was for him and this, this thing hanging hard in his chest; it wasn't as important as Michael's rest.

He glared up at the sky, pretending to be searching for Orion and not trying to give his aching stump a few seconds rest. The Milky Way was as blameless as ever, hanging above him like the frozen flashes of un-muffled rifles, shooting down at him from a billion light years away. He shuddered and took his eyes to the ground, rubbing his hand roughly over them.

He had been driving home. He had been driving home to his cold, lonely house, because he hadn't bothered to turn the heat on. He had been driving home to his house where he knew there was still some of his blood on the undersides of the baseboards, still some of his nail-marks on the mantle his father had insisted he grip during a whipping. He'd been going to go there, to his narrow teen bed. Alone.

And then he -- he hadn't been driving home. He'd watched his hands turn the wheel and play the clutch, pull a u-turn in the middle of the abandoned 2-lane highway, and start off, back out of town, giving the light and buzz and watching eyes of Roswell his taillights. And it was less like he'd driven here, as he'd finally let himself relax, finally let his body go to where his mind had been for days.

Michael hadn't much wanted to see him since his sister disappeared. Alex didn't know if he blamed him, if there was something -- he shoved it out of his mind. He wasn't -- he wasn't going to _think_. He wasn't going to _plan_. Michael wasn't a cypher to be forced to give up its secrets. 

He was just the closest person to home Alex had ever found.

And Alex was -- he wasn't drunk. He hadn't been drinking; nothing stronger than water. But there were days like whiskey, days that ground down your defenses, made you do what you had always been wanting to do, what you had been waiting for something to tip the scales so you could let yourself do. Today's tipping point had been an email from his father in Niger, telling him he was coming back to Roswell in two weeks, "Only to pack, don't worry."

And it wasn't worry he felt at those words on his screen. It was rage. It was unfulfilled, impossible, unending rage. Rage for himself. Rage for Michael. Rage for every queer kid who'd been forced out of his shitty father's shitty chain of command. Rage he couldn't think of a way to _stop_ it, just like he hadn't been able to stop him in the toolshed.

He'd gotten the email at 4pm, opened it at 4:22pm. Now it was midnight and he wasn't angry -- he was afraid. Afraid the safety he'd built, the time he'd stolen to give toMichael, give to them both, was gone now and he'd _wasted_ it. Like he'd wasted those days Michael had been staying in the shed before he came over. Not to hook-up, since he hadn't know that was in the cards, but to spend some time with him. They'd been such lonely kids. He wished he could have gotten to know that Michael better, been a better friend to that kid, had a better understanding of who he was, some knowledge he could have taken with him to war.

And now he was standing at the foot of the stairs to Michael's Airstream, the silence of the junkyard all around him and the same unending sky arcing fluidly above. He raised his hand, fingers tight in a fist. He started to knock, but faltered, knuckles barely grazing the dented aluminum. He tried again, raising his hand up and -- watching it fall.

What was he _doing_. Michael would have come to him if he wanted to talk (if he wanted _him_ ). They'd had a few good days, had a few kind minutes in each other's arms. Then he'd moved on. 

Alex closed his eyes. He'd _tried_. He'd _tried_ changing where he stood, from the minute he realized what he felt for that broken boy living in the back of his truck. He'd _tried,_ God knows he had. But it wasn't something in him that shifted. It wasn't a taste like in eyeliner or skateboards or Chucks. It was something true in him, like the shape of his tongue in his mouth, the way his heart fit into the cage of his body.

He knocked. He could barely hear it over the quiet of the yard. 

_There, done. He didn't hear. I can go now_.

He turned, body creaking, when he heard movement in the trailer. 

And, oh, it was as if Michael had run his burning fingers down Alex's spine, that sound. He wanted to freeze, to run, but that was an option long gone. He wanted to turn, to have some excuse ready: some reason he was here, alone, truckless, standing with the moon in his eyes and his heartbeat pounding copper under his tongue.

Michael opened the door, shirtless, in hastily-buttoned jeans. His hair even more tousled than he normally 'kept' it, eyes scanning the junkyard, body held crooked with sleep. He squinted, shaking his head a little like he was trying to clear it, his eyes widening in the starlight. 

He croaked, hand on the screen door: "Alex? What -- what are you doing here?"

And Alex couldn't speak, couldn't say -- what. That he _needed_ him, if only to say hello to. That he would gladly sleep out here in the dust if Michael would say it was alright. That he just wanted to see _him_ , to know he was safe, that he wasn't hurting.

Michael pushed through the screen door, stumbling on the steps and righting himself, his hands held out between them, broad and pale in the moonlight, like Alex was a wild horse who needed coaxing.

"Alex, hey, what's -- "

And Alex -- he felt something in his chest crack, move at that tone, that soft, sleepy tone, that language they had only ever only spoken in whispers between the sheets and their bare skin. 

He drew a breath and was horrified to hear it catching in his throat, pricking in his eyes. He worked his jaw, getting control over his features. 

He said the first thing he could think of, voice gruff and distant: "How're you?"

Michael tilted his head, expression like a curious crow, all that feathery hair and moonlight gilded body colorless in the moonlight.

"I'm fine," he said slowly, voice crisp with irony, "How are you?"

"Tired," Alex said, he voice a harsh whisper. "I'm really tired Michael."

And Michael -- his shoulders relaxed, his body moving into easier lines. 

Alex realized he'd been squared up for a fight and he cursed himself, running well-pounded circles in his mind wondering how they had gotten so messed-up, so off-track that Michael thought he was, what, going to come wake him up to yell at him? 

But now he was moving easy, hand coming for Alex's elbow, giving him just that little bit of support so he could take that weight off what was left of his leg. The relief of the freed-up blood coursed through his veins. It tripped over itself to race double-time when Michael asked:

"Do you want to sleep here?"

Without thinking, Alex nodded, words trapped between his flying heart and his dried-out mouth. 

Michael didn't say anything, just guided him up the steps and into the trailer. The counters were clear of trash, the sink looked freshly scrubbed. A weight slipped off of Alex's heart -- he'd been afraid Michael had been hiding in here, wounded and aching. But whatever else was happening, Michael seemed to be ok. Or, at least better off than Alex was.

"Do you," Michael started, voice quiet as whispers now they were inside, the aluminum door between them and the outside. 

He tried again: "Do you want the bed? I can take the couch,"

And Alex huffed a laugh, turning his face into Michael's shoulder, feeling the firm skin, the shape of it against his nose and mouth.

"I want nothing less in the world than having to sleep away from where you are."

"Then do you --" Michael started, and them stopped. His hand was still at Alex's elbow, his body a long line of heat beside him. _My own personal furnace_ , Alex remembered thinking the first time he'd felt this, this closeness. It never ceased to amaze, how hot Michael Guerin ran.

Michael's voice brought its own brand of heat when he said: "What do you want, Alex?"

Alex sighed, thinking of all of the things he wanted, but letting his mouth answer: "I just want you, beside me, so when I wake up in the middle of the night -- and wonder where you are, if you're safe, if you're crashed in some ditch after one too many at the Wild Pony -- it's matter of inches and not miles for me to know you're here, you're safe. I never want anything from you, Michael, that you don't want to give, so if that's --"

Michael interrupted him: "Alex, yes."

Alex turned and looked into Michael's eyes, the liquid of them filling him with something painful and burning, something like hope: "You --"

"I never stopped," Michael said, shrugging, eyes hidden: "You seemed to want distance. I didn't want to push. I figured we had time."

And Alex choked, pressing his forehead into Michael's shoulder: "Not as much as I like."

"'Had we but worlds enough and time,'" Michael replied, with the sound of a quote, but Alex didn't have anything to say. He felt the fear of the preceding weeks just crash down around him.

His voice was small when he murmured: "I didn't mean to push you away," Michael was around him, wrapping him up, his body like a shield.

"Hey, hey," Michael said. "Let's maybe do this in the morning?" 

Alex nodded, slipping grateful arms up and under Michael's, letting his knuckles drag on the slow bumps of his spine, the warmth of him seeping in through the cracks. Michael sighed into him, nose busying in Alex's neck. 

He muttered into the soft skin he found there: "Alright, let's get you into bed,"

Alex nodded again, tangling their fingers as Michael stepped away, letting the space between them grow and shrink with each step, never letting go. 

Then they were standing beside the low fold-down bed, but in the breath before it felt awkward Michael was bringing their hands up between them, pressing Alex's fingers to the buttons at the collar of his shirt. Alex started slipping button from hole and Michael helped from the bottom up, backs of his knuckles barely grazing the skin of Alex's stomach, each touch like a pulse between them, perfect and bright.

When his shirt hung open and free, Michael slid his fingers up and over to Alex's shoulders, moving it off and down his arms. There was a moment when Alex's wrists were trapped in his sleeves and he caught a wry smile on Michael's face that he quickly tried to hide. Alex felt a laugh bubble up from inside of him. Michael glanced up, tongue peaking over his lower lip.

"Maybe some other time," he smirked, before helping Alex get his wrists' free. 

Each shared breath in the quiet of the trailer seemed to give Michael confidence, and he moved his hands to Alex's belt, glancing up to see him nod before slipping the silver buckle out of his hook and flipping-open the button, Alex gasping as he carefully unzipped him. But there were no lingering touches, just the comfort of familiarity of a known body. 

Alex let him work the pants down before sitting, getting them and the prosthetic off the rest of the way himself. He looked up to see Michael Guerin over him, strong body outlined in the slivers of starlight coming through the blinds of the Airstream. 

Alex reached forward, hooking his fingers in Michael's belt loops, tugging him between his legs, close enough to unwork the button and the zipper, close enough toe smell the unshowered smells of him. Alex had lied, when he'd told Maria he was good after a shower. He loved how Michael smelled after a day of work, rich and thick and _him_. 

Michael slipped his bare feet out of his jeans, standing there, hands at his sides, as Alex scooted back until his back hit the cool wood of the headboard, just; watching. Alex paused, feeling his breath kicking up, as Michael braced first once hand on the bed,then the other, crawling up and into it, body moving in long, perfect lines. There was a quilt, something old and cottony in a heap at the end of the bed. Michael reached for it, tugging it up and over them, adjusting the lay of it until it covered both of their feet and they could lie back. 

They lay on their backs and the line of air between their untouching bodies trembled, shimmered.

Alex turned to face the wall, giving Michael his back. He felt Michael stiffen for a long moment, before he started trying to tuck his hands under his head without touching Alex. Alex closed his eyes and pressed himself back an inch closer to Michael. Nothing. Another inch. Nothing. Another and he felt a tentative touch at his waist, the ridged skin of Michael's scarred left hand cradling the spur of his hip. Then Michael was wrapping his long arm around around his waist. Alex pressed back the last remaining inch and felt his entire body shiver, once, twice, a third time, as their bodies made the shimmering space between them disappear, absorbing it, fluid and free.

Michael stretched out his right arm, letting Alex lay his head on his biceps, and Alex reached down, tangling his fingers through Michael's crooked fingers, holding tight until he gripped back.

"Good night, Michael." He whispered to the Airstream wall in front of him. He felt Michael's grip around his waist tighten, just that one, hesitating fraction, before relaxing again.

"Good night, love." Michael murmured into the back of his neck.

Alex slept without dreaming, his body never moving from Michael's. Michael kept a hold of him until dawn, when he turned and Alex wrapped his arms around him, body holding him, hands sure of their welcome on his bare skin.


	2. Twelve Weeks

Alex snapped awake the same way he had since the first time a drill sergeant had shouted him out of his bunk: 100% alert, body thrumming with energy. But there was nothing to fight or salute in Michael's Airstream so he kept himself from moving, keeping himself from waking Michael. They'd switched positions in the night, and now Michael's broad shoulders and strong back made up most of his field of view. He held his breath and pressed a kiss to the big muscle over his wing bone, feeling the warm, firm flesh giveaway to his lips. Michael sighed, shifting his hips back and closer to Alex without waking and Alex hid his face in Michael's back, arm gripping him tightly around the waist, unable to stop himself.

It was a sweet poison, the way he felt in his arms. All of his ideas about who he should be consorting with, all of the regulations he'd lived by and through. Did Michael have debts that could threaten his security clearance? Did he count as a "close and continuing alien contact"? Alex stifled a snicker and heard Michael's sleepy voice emerge from between his arms:

"If you're going to laugh at me, you can at least let me in on the joke."

Alex rubbed his face across Michael's back, trying to wipe the smile off his face, his hand playing across Michael's stomach. He felt the skin jump under his fingers, Michael squirming closer to his body.

"Hey -- hey, Alex, that tickles -- "

And Alex dug his fingers in deeper, Michael shuddering against him, breath hissing, cracking with laughter, before whipping around to get his hands on him, hands roving and digging in until Alex was laughing too, barely able to catch his breath, his cheeks aching. In between one breath and a laughing other, Michael threw a leg over Alex's hips, mounting up like he was a recalcitrant pony and mock-glaring down at him, hands poised over his stomach:

"Say 'uncle'?"

"An airman never cries 'uncle,'" Alex declared and raised his hands to resume the attack -- only for Michael to snatch them out of the air, bracing them high up above his head, their combined hands sinking into the soft pillow, stretching his torso up in a clean, exposed curve. Alex felt his breath catch in his chest as Michael's eyes met his, as Michael asked:

"This ok?"

Something between them shifting as Michael adjusted his seat, waiting for his answer. Alex had to close his eyes at the sensation, his full weight across his hips.

He opened his eyes and it hung there between them, the possibility of where the morning could go. The same place it had gone before, and had been so good, but --

"Actually --"

And Michael was off of him, shoving his feet into jeans, running his hands through his tangled hair. "It's fine, you were clear --"

Alex damn near fell out of the bed throwing himself towards Michael, only barely catching his finger in the side belt loops in his denim armor. It was a feeble hold, nothing Michael couldn't break with a gentle tug or a half step back. But instead he froze, looking away, something bright in his eyes entirely different from the smile that had been there moments before.

"Michael, wait."

"You said -- "

"I didn't say  _anything_ before you bolted." Alex's voice came out harsher than he meant it. Michael hadn't gotten his shirt back on yet, so Alex had the unhappy pleasure of watching the muscles across his spine tense, like he was physically preparing for a blow. Alex sat up slowly, keeping his hold on Michael's belt loop.

"Michael, please."

"Please  _what,_ Alex," he said, palm over his eyes, voice catching: "Please  _what_."

"Have breakfast with me," Alex rushed out, heard himself say really. He had no plan here, no idea except the conviction that none of his ideas of how this had to go had worked in the past. "Have breakfast with me, at Crashdown."

Michael frowned at him over his shoulder. "I have breakfast here," he said, confusion thick and pain raw.

Alex closed his eyes, taking a chance and tugging on that one belt loop, unable to keep that distance between them. Michael turned into him, a tiny step closer, eyes still anywhere but Alex's face.

"I know you do. What I'm trying to say is --"

Alex looked up at him, feeling the heat of him held just away from his arms, trying to get the words out: "Last night, the last month and decade of nights, I've wanted to be beside you, to have you beside me. I didn't know how to do that, with who I was. First my Dad, then the Air Force."

Michael was shaking his head, ready to cut in, shifting to step back, and Alex forced the words out faster: "I keep waiting, trying to find a moment when what people order me to be lets me be the man everyone knows will be in your bed, but the thing is, that's never going to happen --" and Michael yanked himself away, hands in front of him to ward Alex off, hair covering his eyes, breath hard. Alex's hand dropped.

"I don't need to  _hear_ this again --"

Alex spoke over him: "It's not going to happen because none of those people or systems care what I am. Who I am. The Air Force will exist long after I'm gone. My father will or won't; I don't think I can say I care. If I separated tomorrow, they would go on without me. I would go on without them. But if I woke up tomorrow in a world where I could never see you again, never touch you --" Alex shook his head, knotting his hands in his quilt-covered lap.

"It's not a world I will be living in. Not if I have anything to say about it."

Michael's expression was rough, a flurry of emotions trying to work its way out across his features. Alex kept going:

"It's not a world I want. Not a world I think I can stand, if I can help it. But I would understand, after all the times I've walked away, everything my family did to yours. I would understand if that's not what you want."

Michael's eyes were still liquid but something on his face was easing, gentle then he said softly:

"You're an idiot, Alex Manes."

Alex nodded: "Sometimes. About you, always."

Michael shook his head: "Where I stand hasn't changed. Isn't gonna. I've changed, my life, my secrets, my reality. Those change. But not this," he pressed his scarred hand against his chest, flattening the fingers against his bare skin as far as they could go, "Not what I feel."

Alex said: "That's why I want to get breakfast with you." He closed his eyes, hands open on his lap, speaking the words that had been hovering for him since the day he'd come to Michael's trailer in his uniform, "I gave them 10 years. I want at least that much for myself. You've been here -- you've been the mountain, and I've been the falcon, whipping around all over the place while you held the earth to the sky between your own two hands." He looked down at his hands: "I want to land. I want people to see where I land, where home has always been. My commission is up in a few months. It'll be a lot of paperwork for them to kick me out this close to my discharge --"

"But maybe we should wait," Michael said, his voice strange. Alex froze, looking up into Michael's golden gaze. There was something beside hurt and humor there, the part of him that never stopped moving, that aced the APs, that went toe-to-toe with Liz in the lab, that knew where all the exits were, every weapon in every room he walked into. A part with a plan.

"If we wait, until your commission is up, that gives you time to see if --" and he waved between them, hand holding the air like it was a living thing, "If this is something that will be part of your next 10 years."

"Is that what you want?" Alex said and Michael shook his head, smile wry:

"I already told you. Keep up, Manes."

"Ok," Alex said, shifting forward on the bed, hands braced the edge, legs hanging over the side. "What does that look like?"

Michael leaned back against the cabinets, crossing his arms over his chest, thinking. He held up a hand:

"We could have rules," he said. And Alex caught the hint of a smirk: "You military types love your rules."

"Like what?" Alex asked.

Michael held up a finger: "No sex until you're a civvie. We know we do that well, and we'll fall into it and nothing will change."

Alex nodded, reaching forward and uncurling Michael's next finger: "We tell our families, however we define that, that we're dating."

Michael curled his full lower lip into his mouth, dropping his authoritative tone, voice quiet: "You're sure," and Alex squeezed wrapped his fingers around his hand.

"Yes."

Michael cleared his throat, freeing a third finger: "No sleepovers unless one or both of us really need it," he ducked his head, "We know how this is going to go, with Rule 1, if we don't."

Alex gritted his teeth but nodded; Michael was right. He hated giving up something he'd just tasted, but if it could build something lasting -- what were another few months of bad sleep. He'd been through worse.

They both had.

Alex tapped the knuckle of Michael's third finger and he raised it up: "We go on dates. Real, not-just-getting-sloppy-at-the-Wild-Pony, actual dates."

"You want me to wear your letter jacket, too?" Michael asked and Alex rolled his eyes. 

"I never lettered, you know that. But I'll wear your Honors Graduate pin anytime you want." Michael flushed and, oh, but Alex wanted to feel that heat against his palms, his lips. He tried to focus, but a half-naked Michael Guerin had never been particularly good for his concentration. Michael's other had came to his wrist, tracing the veins down the soft center of it. Alex tried to form words:

"What's the last rule?"

"Hmm," Michael said, looking down at where their hands were intertwined, his fingers against Alex's wrist.

Alex's voice was a little distant even to his own ears: "Five, five is a good number for rules. Five fingers, five rules --" he was babbling. He shut up.

Michael nodded, stilling his fingers on Alex's skin but not letting go. "Maybe something about talking. With words."

"'Fighting for, not with'?" Alex asked.

"Hmm?" Michael said, fingers beginning to move again across his golden skin.

"It's something Maria says, from her relationship advice podcasts. Healthy couples fight for the relationship, not with each other."

Michael cocked his head: "Well, of all of us, I think she probably has the best view into how people people fuck and unfuck their lives."

"Probably," Alex said, looking up Michael's long body to his eyes. For a hot moment, he wanted to push, to scrap this adult shit, to just feel Michael against him. But he remembered the way Michael had looked, when he'd thought he was rejecting him. He'd do a lot to never see that look on Michael's face again.

He slid his hands free, Michael's touch lingering, pulling tingles across his skin: "Alright, so: breakfast?"

"Sure," Michael said, stepping away, tossing Alex his shirt and pants, turning his back to button his own shirt and give Alex some privacy to get the prosthetic in order. Alex's shirt was thick cotton, the wrinkles barely showing. Michael was in a thin black button-up. Alex pulled himself up, settling into the prosthetic, leg reminding him he'd walked an unnecessary half mile yesterday. He pulled his phone out of his pants' pocket: still enough charge to get through breakfast.

He flipped open Instagram, clicked the camera icon, and strode over to Michael, holding the phone out. "We're millennials, what better way to make it public than IG?"

Michael looked at him dubiously, settling his black Stetson on his unruly curls. "I don't do social media."

Alex looked down at his phone, shrugging: "I wouldn't except for Maria made me when I deployed the second time. Told me she needed to be able to keep track of me somehow. It's been nice to use it, to keep track of guys in my unit who are still there."

"So you want to, what, post a snap of us? In here? Who follows you?"

"Maria, all of the guys from my unit, Liz, Mr Ortecho, Sheriff Valenti and an account I'm pretty sure is Kyle but he never posts his face."

"Does my brother follow you?"

Alex nodded -- "He exclusively posts pictures of the books he's reading. It's all Russian Greats, all the time, I swear to God."

Michael chuckled: "Sounds like him. So as soon as he checks -- "

"He'll know." Alex looked at him. "Is that ok?"

"Yeah," Michael said. 

So Alex raised the phone, turned, and stepped back into Michael. Michael's arm went around his waist, fingers light against his belly, head tilted to the side. The phone made the camera-click sound and the photo appeared.

Alex was surprised to see his full smile, to see how well he and Michael fit together in the photo. He'd spent so much time thinking of them as permanently unjoinable puzzle pieces, it was something seeing how easy they slid into each other's spaces, how natural they looked.

Without thinking about it too hard, he marked their location as Roswell, typed in: "Off to breakfast!" into the caption bar, and hit post.

He turned in Michael's arms to see Michael's expression.

It was wondering, but there was something pleased in it too.

"Let's get some breakfast before the churro pancakes are gone," he slid his hand down Alex's arm, pressing their palms together until Alex gripped him tight.

"Good idea, love," Alex said.

Michael smiled and tugged him outside into the brightening sunshine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any date requests? This is going to stay light and fluffy and should be done by the end of the week.


	3. Eleven Weeks, Six Days, and 14 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the theme of "better safe than sorry" most of this chapter is wrapped-up around a self-defense class that Alex teaches on the base, which while there is no non-consensual anything, could potentially be triggering for folks with experiences of child abuse or sexual assault. I can give more details in the comments if folks need!

Sunday breakfast at Crashdown went about as well as could be expected. That is: Liz stared at them and the patrons stared at them. Then Liz gave Alex a high-five, gave Michael a glare, and moved on to the next table. They sat on the same side of the booth, legs pressing carefully against each other. Alex caught Liz's grin when they ordered the off-menu churro pancakes, things easing between them. Michael tried to pay but they split the bill and then wandered outside.

"So, what's next?" Michael said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Well," he cleared his voice, "I have a commitment."

Alex could see Michael's shields slam down across his usually open face: "Oh, yeah, me too -- I have a carburetor I need to --"

Alex interrupted: "You can come, it's just --"

Alex took a deep breath. The mid-morning sun was hot on their faces. "I just don't know if it's your kind of thing."

Michael frowned, leaning his hips against the dry red brick of the building.

Alex sighed: "I can explain on the way there -- it's at the base. It's a 20 minute drive, that should be enough. I can explain on the way over."

They'd driven separately, trying to set themselves up for not violating the sleepover Rule 3 on the first day. 

As they walked to Alex's truck, Michael asked: "They have you working on a Sunday?"

"I don't have to," Alex said, opening the passenger door to move the seat back for Michael before heading to the driver's side. He hoisted himself up, glanced over to make sure Michael had his seatbelt on, then he pulled onto the road and dove in, never one to give a hard question longer legs than it needed: "I'm teaching a self-defense class."

He could feel Michael's eyes on his face: "Okay, why would that not be my kind of thing?" 

"I'm teaching a self-defense class for foster kids. I mean, anybody can come, but it's mostly --"

Alex glanced over and saw Michael's eyes widen. He asked, his voice rough: "How long have you been teaching?"

"10 years," Alex replied, letting that settle.

"At every base I've ever been stationed at. It's not always foster kids, sometimes it's military wives or kids in the villages or former combatants from other wars. Folks who need an adapted workout, who need the strength that comes from knowing you can fight back. No matter how big the other person is, or how much power they have."

Michael's eyes shone and he looked out at the unblemished desert that was everything outside of Roswell. He hand worked itself across the gearshift to squeeze Alex's knee before slipping back into his own lap.

Alex's voice was quiet when he said: "These kids, a lot of them are from the Mescalero Reservation. One of the teachers there, she served and we met at PT. I told her about --" And he stopped talking, realizing this, this was something he'd never thought he'd have to explain. He kept his hands on the wheel, feeling Michael's gaze on him.

He clenched his jaw, feeling his cheeks heating, steeling himself: "I told her that I knew a boy in high school, who protected me. But he didn't know how to protect himself. And he was strong and brave and got hurt a lot, and he was in foster care and deserved better." He shook his head. "I've told that story on every base I've gone to. It let people know -- a bunch of things. People found me. People with trauma, people with men they'd left behind. People who needed someone safe. It was never a problem filling my classes."

He couldn't look at Michael and he kept going. They only had abut 10 minutes before they'd hit the first perimeter check. "Officers are supposed to volunteer, but they don't usually go out into the community to do it, much less bring people on base. But I can usually work it out. These kids, they're all ages: Maribel is like 11 and the youngest and Jesus is like 29 and the oldest, but he's got some developmental stuff, so he's finishing up his GED right now." Alex could feel a soft smile on his face, "He's a big kid. I think he's making himself big so he's harder to push around. He started getting on the bus Ms Kishore drives around to pick them all up because he wants to be able to protect his little brother." He tightened his fingers around the wheel: "I think his Dad is violent. But he won't leave home until his brother gets to be 18 and they can get out together."

Alex could hear his voice flattening, could feel his kind trying to pull away. It was always like this, working with people with the same kind of family baggage he had; like prodding a loose baby tooth or healing bone. It  _hurt_ but there was a healing quality to the hurt. He hoped. Sometimes he thought he was just hurting himself for no good reason, then he'd remember --

"Maria, she's 16 and in her fifth placement," Alex shook his head, "She's really smart. She reminds me so much of you. Her mom is from an indigenous tribe in Mexico and got deported a few years back. Maria was born here. She came to class a few weeks ago, just, dancing around the room, yelling, so excited," Alex could feel a grin breaking through: "She said one of the guys from her tribe had been hassling her on the bus to school, telling her she had to be his girlfriend because their parents speak the same language. He kept  _hugging her_ and the driver, the other kids, none of them did shit. But she remembered our party self-defense -- "

"'Party self-defense'?" Michael asked. His voice sounded normal enough, not like Alex had totally freaked him out. He wouldn't know until he looked at him, how he'd taken the story, but he couldn't do that. Not yet.

"It's self-defense for when you need to get someone away from you but you can't make a fuss, because it's not safe. Stuff that's painful but not maiming. So she remembered one of the ones for hugs, where you pinch their sides as hard as you can, over and over until they let go," Alex could feel his smile darken, "Macho assholes can't very well complain that a girl pinched them. So she did it to this guy and he backed off and she got away from him and back to her friends."

"That's really good," Michael said, encouragement in his voice and Alex felt his shoulders relax, just a little bit. Some people when they heard that story got really hyped-up on the injustice of it. Like _how dare she have to be in that unsafe situation._ And yes, of course, it was shitty. But focusing on that meant those people missed the victory that was Maria getting a bit of her safety back  _herself_ , protecting  _herself_. Alex knew how rarely adults actually saved anyone and how vital it was to give kids what they needed to protect themselves and each other.

"It can get rough. These kids have been in my class since I got back, so for a few months. I have a good sense of their triggers and such, but stuff comes out all the time. But they keep coming back and Ms Kishore -- their teacher -- is always there in the room, able to give them some space if they need it."

There was quiet from beside him, then Michael asked: "So what are you teaching today?"

Alex quirked his smile: "Aside from tickle defense?"

That cracked a chuckle out of Michael: "Obviously."

Alex risked glancing over. Michael was looking out the window, boot on his knee, working his jaw, tapping his fingers;  _grounding himself_ Alex thought. But he didn't look furious at the way Alex had told his story, that he had told it to strangers. 

"We're covering groundwork today. Getting out of a situation where you're on the ground. We'll review party self-defense and the other stuff I've covered, and answer any of the kids' questions."

"And you thought it 'might not be my thing' because -- "

Alex glanced over at him, letting his hand drift off the wheel, hovering palm-up between them. Michael took it with his scarred left hand with a grateful sound, sliding his fingers between Alex's.

Alex's voice was barely audible under the noise of the engine: "It can feel violent, it can be hard for -- for kids like us."

Michael squeezed his fingers, all the acknowledgement he needed.

"You don't have to participate -- you can hang-out with their teacher or play on your phone or --" and Alex could see this going so, so badly, Michael bored out of his mind, triggered, pissed --

But he felt his grip tighten, just a little bit: "I can help out. Do you need a punching bag? I've got enough experience." There was something like he was trying to make it a joke but Alex felt like a bucket of water had been dumped on him, felt the pressure behind his eyes ratchet up hundred notches. The road faded out and all he could see was Michael's face when his father had brutalized his hand. 

"Hey, hey," Michael said, leaning across the median and pressing his mouth to Alex's shoulder, the connection bring the world back like a bubble popping, "Sorry, I didn't mean to say it that way. It's just --"

"I get it," Alex said, taking a deep breath and trying to shake the roll out of his shoulders. "If you're ok with it, I'll introduce you as my friend who wants to learn self-defense. After all, you can't use your powers in there, you'll have to play plain-old human for the kids." And Michael groaned, pressing his forehead to Alex's shoulder. Alex could feel his hot breath, remembered what it felt like on the back of his neck when they woke-up together that morning.

His voice caught a little: "You'll be my partner in the drills, since the kids do a set rotation and they don't know you. And we'll go over the house rules, but if there's anything you don't want to do, you just say no thanks and go get some water from the water fountain. That's home base. Where everyone should be safe."

Michael nodded, only sitting up and pulling away from Alex's shoulder when they were within sight of the perimeter guard.

\--

The class was in the base gym, at the least strict part of security so families and vets could use the facility. The room was small, the size of Crashdown's main floor without the tables, and when they arrived there were a dozen kids of a variety of ages and sizes all standing in little groups, playing on their phones and giggling. Joshua had a prosthetic from the elbow down and Clara had a pretty asymmetrical frame from her cerebral palsy. Alex smiled: that was the other thing this class provided -- a few kids with disabilities had started to come, once it got around in the community he could give them advice about going out into the world with a body that world wasn't built for. Better advice than the average pediatrician on the base or the rez could give.

Clara caught sight of him first: "Hey, Mr M." She held up a shaking hand and Alex gave her a gentle high-five. The kids each had their own kind of greeting with him, some diving in for hugs, others fist-bumping, some giving him surly teenaged nods.

"Alright everyone," Alex said. "Line up." The kids all wandered to a relatively straight line, Michael hovering at the side. He gestured to Michael: "This is my friend, Michael --"

"Hi, Michael," some of them chorused; others giggled. Michael ducked his head, pulling his black Stetson off and setting it on a side table.

"Michael's going to be joining the class for today. He'll be partnered with me. We grew up in Roswell together. Same rules apply as usual. Maria, can you tell everyone the house rules?"

Maria stepped forward: "One: always ask before touching. Two: Check-in with partners regularly. Three: There's no shame in taking a breather. Four: Be kind."

"Thank you Maria -- and as a reminder, who are we kind to?"

The group spoke in an uneven chorus: "Ourselves and each other."

Alex smiled: "Great. Michael, got all that?"

Michael nodded, something glimmering in his eyes as he looked around the room to all of those round, sharp, eye-linered, buzz-cutted, focused faces.

Alex moved them through the party self-defense basics alone and then in partnered drills: getting out of same-hand, cross-hand, both-hand and two-handed wrist grips; breaking a hug; getting out of hair pulls. Michael was fine through the grips and the hug-break, but when Alex asked if he wanted to try to hair pull, he gritted his teeth and raised his hands. He stepped away, leaning an elbow on the water cooler, and Alex saw a few of the kids follow his example. 

Once they finished the reminder drills, Alex glanced over at the clock. They had another hour. "Alright, everyone, 5 minute stretching break!"

And the entire classroom dropped to the floor, gossiping and chatting and only incidentally stretching. Alex wandered over to where Michael was still haunting the water cooler.

"You ok?" he murmured and Michael gave a jerky nod, turning his back on the kids so they couldn't see his expression.

"Yeah, it's just --"

"You don't have to tell me," Alex said, "Like it says in the rules. Be kind to yourself. You don't have to tell me why you don't want to do any of this. I trust you to know when it's too much."

Michael's grateful glance filled Alex's stomach with a kind of warmth he didn't have a name for. He telegraphed the movement and risked putting his hand on Michael's upper back, spreading his fingers and trying to share some of his calm. He felt Michael breathe in deeply, once, twice, three times, and then nod to himself.

"So, Mr M.," he said with a smirk as Alex rolled his eyes, "What are we going over next?"

Alex glanced over and saw no fewer than three eyes watching them. He grimaced slightly and pulled his hand away, gesturing Michael back to the group.

Once he was settled, he called out, voice carrying over the teenaged din: "Does anyone remember what we're covering?"

Clara raised her hand from where she sat, legs folded carefully on the floor. "Groundwork, right Mr M.?"

Alex nodded, trying to fill his voice with the kind of seriousness that would help them focus. "Remember that this can be rough for folks. Be really careful with each other. Actually -- " and he glanced over to their teacher. "I'm going to ask Ms Kishore if she's ok drilling wrist-breaks with anyone who steps away, since I expect a lot of folks may not want to do the partner portions."

There were a few nods, mostly the expected ones.

"Alright everyone, first move in groundwork is bicycle kicks. Get a space for yourself and practice bicycle kicking."

Everyone flopped onto their backs, giggling and sort of wiggling their legs around. Alex glanced over at Michael, who was still hovering.

"Michael?" He called. "Would you mind helping me out?"

Michael visibly collected himself and nodded, walking over to the front of the room. Alex raised his voice a little, letting it carry over the murmuring students who sat-up to see what he was doing.

"Here's how we use this. Let's say I'm on the ground," and he lowered himself down to the mat, careful of his prosthetic. He lay back as Michael stood over him, his arms at his sides, eyes on his, focused on him, "And Michael is standing. If I don't want him there, I can shout and yell, and if I bike kick, it will help keep him away." He began to kick and Michael raised his hands in mock surprise. Alex heard a wash of giggles move across the room.

"Now, they might try to catch your foot, to stop you kicking. So what can you do about it?" Michael grabbed for one of Alex's boots with his left hand and Alex let him catch it, voice steady: "You can use your other foot to get them off." And he gentle pressed on Michael's hand with his heel. Michael let go easily.

"Alright, everyone bike kick again," 

Michael joined the group at the side and Alex walked around, helping correct form. For Clara, whose legs weren't really strong most of the time, he quietly let her know they would go over a lot of other options. She grinned and said: "I've got my pepper spray and my knife, Mr M." He nodded, wishing she didn't have to, but remembering how scared and quiet she'd been when she first joined the group.

When he finished his rounds, he stood in the middle of the room: "You're all doing great. Now, if you'll watch me, we're going to go over how to get someone off if they've gotten past your bike kicks. I learned this from a karate teacher in my boot camp, at BMT. He was a big guy, almost as strong as Jesus," and he saw a slow grin move across Jesus's face as he pumped his fists in the air, "And he didn't know back when _he_ learned it if this move would work if you were smaller. He was living in a 2nd story apartment and had a girlfriend, who was much smaller than him. He taught her how to do this and she nearly threw him sliding across their silk sheets and out the window. So remember, we need to practice lots in safe places so that if we're not safe, we don't have to think. But also, this one requires contact, so we're going to do same-gender pairings, ok?" The teens shuffled into their same-gender pairings, non-binary with non-binary, girls with girls, boys with boys, a few heading right to the water cooler and Ms Kishore.

"Ok, Michael, can I borrow you again? First I'll show the move and then I'll ask for you to cover me, ok?"

Michael stood and walked over, eyes careful on him, hands loose at his sides.

Alex worked himself to the floor again, laying back.

"Alright," he said, looking over at the students. "Your goal is to get them off of you, and none of us can levitate people, so they need to go to one side or the other," he carefully didn't look at Michael as the students giggled, "So pick your strongest side. Then flatten your other leg," he flattened his prosthetic to the ground, leaving the other knee crooked. "Then you'll press your fingers to their eyeballs and shove with your hand and your hip over to the side all at the same time," and he did, rolling half onto his side.

"Then they'll be off of you and you can bike kick or get up and run, screaming for help the whole way." He saw some kids were still joking, but others were deadly serious, absolutely focused. There were some kids in this group who  _needed_ this, had needed it before and hadn't had it and were getting it now.

"Michael, can you cover me?"

Michael nodded, face tight. He knelt over Alex's thighs, eyes on him the whole time, careful. He leaned forward, posting his arms on either side of Alex's shoulders.

"Are you ready to fly?" Alex asked in an undertone. Michael raised his eyebrows and then gave him a wry smile.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Alex nodded, turning his head to speak to the class. "Alright, so here's what that looks like," and within a second Michael had flattened himself on him, weight barely registering before Alex had braced his hand on Michael's shoulder, posted-up his strongest leg, and thrown him a solid meter away. Michael landed with an  _oof_ and the class went:

"Oooooh!"

Alex sat-up, hand going out to Michael. After a breath, Michael sat up, two thumbs in the air, still catching his breath.

"I can tell you all -- it works."

There were a few chuckles and Alex raised his hand for silence as Michael moved back to the line.

"You saw I put my hand on his shoulder? Go for the eyeballs only in a real situation, so practice that _gently_ without the throw a few times. But use the shoulder only when doing the throw. We don't need to lose any more limbs in this room," he said and Joshua giggled. He smiled back and then asked: "Any questions?"

There weren't any, so as he pushed himself to standing, he called out:

"Can everyone show me doing this movement without partners 10 times?"

The class laid back and began to practice. Alex started with Michael's end of the line, leaning down to murmur: "Was that ok?"

Michael nodded, flexing his hand, something complex in his eyes. Alex would have to ask him after, away from eyeliner-ed eyes and newly-pierced listening ears.

Alex moved around the room, correcting a braced foot here, the timing of the push there.

When he was satisfied, he said: "Find enough space in the room and practice 10 times each with your partner. Remember to check-in, remember to tap-out, remember to be kind."

Three kids wandered away over to Ms Kishore and he moved the pairs around to accommodate. Alex saw Michael stand, heard him offer to be an extra partner for the grip practice. Joshua was one of the kids at the cooler, his prosthetic hand not well-suited to the pressure of this drill.

He knelt to help Maria fix her timing and across the room he caught movement. Michael was kneeling in front of Joshua, showing him his scarred hand, looking up into the boy's eyes. Alex could see something there, something in that look, some kind of wonder in Joshua's eyes. He turned back to the class.

After 10 throws each he called an end to the groundwork. They had half an hour left but some of the kids were sounding thready when he asked them questions, others were getting loud -- everyone had their own ways to dealing with fear and remembered pain. He'd found if he gave everyone time to decompress blow-ups became a lot less of a problem, whether he was working with soldiers or kids in foster care. He had a collection of games to use as a wind-down, so he called everyone into a circle, Michael easing into a cross-legged position beside him.

Alex held up his hands: "Alright, who remembers Down by the Banks?"

Most of the hands went up; it was a popular clapping game. Michael glanced over at him, confused. Alex realized his mistake; most kids learned Down by the Banks when they were 6 or 7 years old, and Michael didn't remember those years. 

Alex adjusted course: "Clara, Jesus, Maria," he called on three students sitting close to each other, "Can you demonstrate?"

They scooted until they were their own little circle, hands on their knees. They each put their left-hand under the right of the person to the left, and let the person on their right do the same. Then they began to sing:

"Down by the banks of the hanky panky where the bullfrogs jump from bank to bank-y there's an eeps, eyeps, shoobady-waps, hey Mr. Lillypad you went ker-PLOP!"

On the fourth syllable of each line, they passed a clap to the next person by clapping their left hand with both of their hands, making a steady rhythm. Jesus yelled "PLOP!" and tried to catch Maria's left hand for real but she snatched it away just in time. 

"Thanks, all. As a reminder, if you know you're the 'ker-PLOP,' then you need to try to get your hand away from them. Ok?"

Everyone nodded, including Michael. Then they reformed into a broader circle with all of their knees touching, hands layered just-so. Michael laid his left hand on Alex's knee and Alex tucked his hand into the scarred palm. It was warm, fingers curling just a little bit around Alex's so that something in his stomach jerked.

He turned to the group, letting Michael's touch sing through him, and he began to sing in his off-key voice: "Down by the banks --"

Michael clapped him out on the third round and Jesus clapped Michael out two rounds later. In the end, it was Clara vs Maria in the much more complex two-person version of the game. The entire group hooted and cheered and crowed when Clara tapped the top of Maria's head just in time, winning the game. Then went another few rounds before time was up, and each time, Alex learned something new about Michael: his voice was warm and deep; he jerked when someone clapped his hand but kept in the game; his eyes lit-up when he watched the choreographed final battle, cheering for the winner and high-fiving the losers with equal enthusiasm. Alex felt his heart shoving against his chest and tried to calm it, but then Michael was sitting next to him again and his heartbeat tripped over itself again.

When they had 2 minutes left, Alex called everyone back to the line. The students were grinning, their shoulders relaxed, bumping against each other amiably as they found their usual spots.

"Thank you everyone for a good class. Let's give ourselves a round of applause," and he clapped his hands in a circle. Michael's eyes were extremely wide as he sort-of followed the motion; Alex was certain he was going to be teased the entire car ride back for that hokey gesture but so sue him, he thought it was funny.

"I know it can be hard, working on what we work on here. I'm proud of all of your who took breaks and all of you who took care of each other. Joshua, I saw you helping Maria with her grip-break. Jesus, I saw you being a good leader. You all did a good job and I'm looking forward to seeing you next week. Alright, it looks like Ms Kishore is ready to get on the road."

The students scrambled around him, hugs and high-fives and fist-bumps abounding. Alex saw few of the younger kids ask if they could hug Michael. He nodded and they came in slow for a hug, squeezing him tighter as he patted their shoulders.

Alex heard a low voice behind him and he turned to see Ms Kishore looking over at Michael.

There was a secret smile on her warm face: "He's good with them," she said. Alex nodded, heart beating hard, chest filling with warmth. She glanced back at Alex. "I wouldn't be wrong to assume he was your high school protector?"

Alex froze, glancing around -- but the students were picking up their backpacks against the wall, not in earshot. "He did a lot for me. Does a lot."

He saw her telegraph a hand to his shoulder and felt her tight grip through his thick shirt.

"I'm glad, Alex. If he's good to you, then I'm glad."

"He is," he said and she nodded, heading over to wrangle the kids into the bus.

In a few moments, it was just the two of them in the room, Alex's ears still ringing with the sounds of the students departing.

Michael stepped over to him, arm pressing against his. 

There was a long silence, then Michael said: "I wish I had had something like this."

"Yeah, me too."

He took a breath, wrapping his arm around Michael's waist and pulling him against him -- he went, so, so willingly, head tipping against his shoulder in a mess of curls. "But unless you have some kind of time-travel tech, the closest we're ever going to get to fixing our crappy childhoods is helping kids caught in the thick of it, giving them some breathing room, some options no one gave us."

He felt Michael nod against his shoulder. He turned him around a little bit, looking into his golden eyes:

"I kind of threw you in the deep-end there. Was everything ok?"

Michael nodded, but it was slow, considering. "I don't know if I'd come regularly, since I think I have some stuff I haven't worked out that I don't want to deal with around a bunch of little kids," Alex tightened his grip around his waist but Michael kept going: "But this does set a high bar for the next date."

Alex huffed a laugh: "You want to get dinner after this?"

Michael paused, taking a deep breath: "I'd love to, but I promised Max I would come and cook," he chuckled, "He's useless with an oven."

Alex smiled: "Yeah, I could see that. So, when do you want to --"

"I've got work tomorrow --"

"Me too --" Alex interjected and Michael smiled smiled a bit:

"Maybe dinner tomorrow?"

"I can host?" Alex asked and Michael tilted his head. 

"I'll bring the fixins," Michael said.

Alex glanced out the window in the door: the bus was on its way out of the base. He leaned into Michael, pressing his lips to his hot mouth, feeling Michael melt against him for just a moment before pulling away.

"It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of indulgence on my part. I've taught self-defense classes to survivors of human trafficking and sexual assault and a lot of what went on in this class is stuff that happened in my classes. These kinds of classes are non-sexually intimate in a lot of ways, because they are places where people (often women) talk about the things that most scare them, have most hurt them. Safe ground rules and careful, proactive consent conversations are vital for these spaces and can create incredible, safe, protective spaces like I tried to show in this fic.


	4. Eleven Weeks, Six Days, and 3 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upped the rating level because, well, it's going to go there. Not in this chapter, but it's coming.
> 
> Also, I seem to have no control over chapter length. I'm just writing what I see in my brain-TV, and sometimes the chapters are, uh, 7000 words. Enjoy! #pacingwhatpacing.
> 
> TW: Mentions of reality-typical anti-black racism, anti-Semitism, and homophobia. I wish they weren't reality-typical. But fanfic is a place where we can make the world better, so enjoy some hc and fluff and angst!

The call came in at the Wild Pony when Alex was two tequila shots, a beer, and no further plans for the night in with Maria. He pulled his buzzing phone out and saw Michael's name, shoving the phone against his ear. "Michael?"

He couldn't hear a damn thing. He near broke his shot glass shoving it across the bar before hustling to the front door. Maria knew he was good for the tab.

He huddled the phone against his cheek and said: "Michael, what's -- "

"Alex, I need you."

"Ok, where are you?"

"I'm at Max's and I finished dinner and I don't want him to know -- I'm in the bathroom, he can't hear, and I need to -- I need you."

"Ok, I can come and get you --"

"No, I don't want you to come and get me. I want to not be thinking about all the times they grabbed my hair and wouldn't let me up and I didn't know how to --"

"Oh shit, Michael, I'm so sorry -- "

"Sorry for  _what_ , you're not the one that did it --"

"But I -- look, I'll come get you."

" _No_ , I don't want Max to know I'm -- look, I can drive. Your place is only 10 minutes from here."

"Michael, I'm 25 minutes out. I'm at the Wild Pony, I can't, I can't drive. I'm drunk."

"Oh," there was a slightly-damp sounding chuckle. "Ah, how the tables have turned. Who's the hot mess now?"

"Yes, yes, I'm a hot mess. It's not news to either of us, thank you very much, Mr Guerin."

He could hear Michael's smile through the phone. Before Michael could  _again_ imply that his needs weren't worth bothering the people he loved over, Alex said: "Look, I'll get Maria to call Luis," naming the only taxicab in town, "And I will drink as many espresso shots as she can fit into a coffee, and I will be there, I will see you at my place in 25."

"Alright." Michael said and for a long breath they held the line, before there was a sound on Michael's end and he hung up.

Alex went back inside and drank the most foul-tasting coffee he'd had in his entire life, more caffeine than liquid at that point. And as the tequila and the espresso fought for supremacy in his veins, he waited for Luis, tapping his cane against the curb. 

Luis's F150 was bumpy but the seatbelts worked and that's really all that mattered. He gripped his cane across his knees while they drove, shoulders painfully tight. As they pull-up Alex's family house’s long driveway, Luis said:

"What's the junkrat doing sitting on your front porch?"

A bevy of answers flipped through Alex's head, too fast to really analyze: _fuck you, he's not a junk rat;_   _he's my_  _junkrat; I love him, that's why; go fuck yourself._ He settled on:

"Michael and I are dating."

Luis tutted, shaking his head: "Alex, you're not bad in the face department. You should be with a pretty girl."

He pulled to a stop, Alex fishing-out a twenty, pressing it into his hand and not waiting for change, saying as he worked his way out of the car: "I don't want a pretty girl."

He heard Luis muttering to himself but pretended he couldn't as the truck pulled away.

Michael was hunched over, hands deep in his matted curls, each breath looking like it was shaking him.

"Michael -- " Alex started.

Michael looked-up and his eyes were raw and red. "They would put their hands in my hair and hold me down, and I couldn't get out because it hurt too much."

"Shit, Michael," Alex said with feeling. Alex moved to sit beside him, keeping a bit of distance between them in case that is what Michael wanted.

It became obvious a moment later it was  _not_ what he wanted when Michael Guerin flopped his entire self across Alex's lap, burying his face in his lap.

He voice was muffled when he whispered: "I didn't know that you just get your hand between theirs and your scalp, and you can pull their hand off. Alex, if I'd known that --"

"It's not your fault." Alex said. 

He felt rage rising inside him. He should have said that; he usually said it every class. But the kids knew it and he figured -- well, obviously he figured wrong.

"No one deserves to be hurt like that, Michael. No one. Knowing how to fight against it doesn't meant that you'll always win. It just gives you one more tool to fight back. But not having that tool doesn't mean that you should be a -- an open target."

Michael laughed, voice choked: "The fundamentalists they had me with, after the drunks, they were racists too. And they said my hair meant I had to be half-black or a Jew. Those aren't the words they used, of course,"

"Jesus," Alex murmured, hand going to the safe center of Michael's back, and just, holding on as he breathed and talked.

"And I didn't know," Michael said and there was something terribly self-loathing in his voice, "And I didn't know that those words referred to people. I thought they were insults, like all of the other ones they used. So when I was at school and I would get in fights, get mad, I would call people those words. And everyone hated me because I was a racist, anti-Semitic asshole."

"You were just repeating --"

"It doesn't matter!" Michael said, body tense and so, so miserable. "I was too faggy for the skin-heads and too racist for everyone else. I couldn't get picked in dodge-ball.  _Dodge-ball_ , Alex. I can make balls fly without touching them, Alex! I couldn't get  _picked_."

Alex moved his hand across his shoulders and Michael curled a little more tightly around him. 

"You couldn't have used your powers to play dodgeball anyway."

Michael pounded a fist on the deck, "I know, I  _know_ that, Alex. I'm just saying --"

"I get what you're saying, Michael. None of that should have made you a target. You were a little kid who deserved to be protected."

He rolled onto his back, Alex's legs taking the strain. Michael looked up into his face and the the moon highlighted every curve, every smudge of wetness across his cheeks.

"And those  _kids_ , Alex, those kids in your class --"

"They're pretty great, aren't they," Alex said, smiling.

"They  _are_ ," Michael said, hand rubbing over his face. "And they have you. They have each other. They were touching knees, they were hugging." He took a breath. "You probably don't know this, but they have rules, if you're a foster parent, how you can touch kids --"

Alex thought those rules were not being properly enforced given Michael's experience, but he let him keep going.

"I didn't get hugged. Unless I was being hurt, I wasn't touched. Not for years, Alex. Do you know what -- I became that kid who hugs his brother and sister when they get to school in the morning. And I am not a sappy fuck, but if it was a 3-day weekend, I wouldn't have been touched in 72 hours if I didn't make Max and Isobel give me a hug in the morning." He laughed. "It's not like it could have been a pleasant experience once I was staying in my truck. And they never said no, but pity  _sucks._ "

Alex nodded, moving his hand up-and-down Michael's back. "Pity does suck."

Michael's hands untangled from where they'd been held tight to his chest, one arm going around Alex's waist. He untucked his shirt from the back and slipped his hand under, pressing the flat of it to the thin skin there. Alex shuddered, sucking a breath between his teeth.

"I didn't know about the hugging rule, but having them play those games at the end is something I always try to do, if they're up for it. It gives them practice with positive touch, outside of the violence of defense. A lot of them -- I don't they would normally be hugging kids. But. Yeah, like you said, a lot of them don't get hugged at home. And I'm not trying to say this blame their parents or guardians, except those who deserve it. Most of them are trying their best, but it's hard out there."

Alex's leg gave a twinge and he braced on arm behind his back, changing the angle. He would be damned before he told Michael to move before he was ready, but if he adjusted where he was sitting he was more likely to make it through without tomorrow becoming hell.

He murmured: "I didn't get a lot of positive touch growing up either, so I guess figured it might help."

Michael nodded, forehead against Alex's hipbone. Alex's hand had been rubbing up-and-down Michael's back, staying away from the nape of his neck, from his scalp. The night wind was cold on his skin.

"Want to come inside?"

Michael looked up at him: "I thought we said no sleep-overs."

Alex tried to hold back a smile: "I think we said no sleep-overs unless one of us needed it. I think me accidentally triggering you to hell and back is probably enough of a reason." He looked down at him, "If you want."

Michael breathed in a big sigh, "That would be nice."

Alex waited, to see if he was going to get up. When he didn't move, he said: "You know, I can't get up with you on me."

Michael chuckled and this time there was some actual humor in it. "Oh, you mean you can't post-up with your strong leg and throw me a meter in front of a bunch of giggling teenagers?"

"You volunteered!"

"I did  _not_ volunteer, I was voluntold."

"Well, that happens to the best of us," Alex said.

"Is that how --" Michael asked, voice hushing.

"Yeah, it was an optional mission. But Officers have to go on optional missions."

"That fucking sucks." Michael said, voice fervent.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does." Alex said quietly.

Michael levered himself up, asking: "Did you eat? Or were all of your calories in liquid form since breakfast?"

Alex thought about lying, hedging: "You know, tequila has a lot of calories."

"Ugh, tequila _and_ espresso? That's like, five Four Lokos. That's ridiculous. You need to drink some water."

"I  _know_ I need to drink water! I was being there for you," Alex said, sulkily. "I _was_ going to drink water."

"Uh hmm," Michael said.

He stood, offering Alex a welcome hand up and then handing him his cane. He hovered around the door but Alex went down the steps, to an inconspicuous cactus against the side of the house. With careful practice, he reached around to pluck the spare key off a spike at the back. He walked up to the porch, opened the door with the spare, and then turned, pressing the silver key into his hand.

"I don't want you having to wait outside."

Michael looked at the key. "We're not lesbians, Alex."

Alex cocked his head: "What?"

"Getting a U-Haul after the first date?" Alex had no idea what he was talking about and Michael followed him in. "We really need to get you to more queer places."

"I figured I was queer enough all by myself."

"You are," Michael said lightly, "But there's a whole culture in the cities."

Alex shrugged: "Not the cities I've been in."

Michael narrowed his eyes: "No bis in Badgdad?"

"There are, but they don't invite Americans to the clubs."

Michael nodded: "That's fair," as he headed over to the kitchen. Alex hurried to keep up.

"Don't even think about cooking -- I've got leftovers."

Michael opened the fridge door, looked at the single box of take-out that served as the sole contents of the fridge, and turned with a look a slow horror towards Alex.

"Alex, I live in an Airstream and my fridge is better stocked than this."

Alex scrambled: "Well, I don't like cooking, and there's only one take-out place. And so why worry about it?"

Michael shook his head but stepped away from the fridge, opening and closing unpainted cabinets to find two glasses. 

"Tap ok?"

"There's a well outback and I changed the filters."

He popped the take-out box in the microwave, set it to nuke for 3 minutes, and sat down heavily in the stool he kept by the microwave, propping his cane beside it.

Michael handed him a glass of water and looked at him judgily until he drank it.

"Are you hungry?" Alex asked belatedly.

"I made three steaks -- I forgot Isobel was -- well, I chopped it up and turned it into a stew so Max will be eating something healthy for a little bit. Next time he finds me in the drunk tank, maybe he won't be so prissy about it."

Alex narrowed his eyes: "Are you planning on going to the drunk tank this week?"

Michael shrugged: "You never know."

"I would think you  _would_ know," Alex said.

Michael grinned a little bit, looking around the room. Then his expression fell. He stood, stepping into the entirely empty living room, a single chair with a battered side table beside it. He turned around, taking in the blank white faux-dobe walls with unfilled nail holes.

"How're you here? In this house? Your asshole father is in Niger, not dead yet, right?" He asked, voice cautious.

Alex felt his shoulders creeping towards his ears, like he did nearly any time he spent more than the time it took to heat-up his food and bring it back to his childhood bedroom in this part of the house.

"When my Mom left, she took all of the rugs and paintings. The only thing she left was us," he heard his voice go flat and he hated it and had no idea how to explain it. "The house was hers, she bought it after she moved off the rez to be with my Dad," he shifted his jaw, trying to breathe in and out, but barely getting any air, his chest was so tight. "She wouldn't put it in his name, put it in a trust that went evenly to me and my brothers. She died, while I was over there. They didn't tell me until long after the funeral. When I got hit, they sat down with an attorney and deeded it over to me." He held his arms out, gesturing. "All mine, now. I guess they'd seen too many guys not get taken care of by the military, by the VA, too many guys ending up on the street. They wanted to make sure that never happened."

Michael's face told him he was clearly trying to fit this kindness into his understanding of Alex's brothers. Alex huffed, stopping the microwave with a few seconds left to avoid the beeper. "I think -- I think they think of me as different people. There's war hero Alex, who they can be proud of and be good big brothers to. Then there's fag Alex, who they could wail on without a problem and go to church on Sunday without anything to confess."

He snagged a fork from the drawer and began to eat. Michael was looking into the corners, looking for cracks or blood smears or something else, Alex didn't know. The Chinese food hit the roiling mix of alcohol and caffeine in his stomach, lurching and then settling. He felt steadier a few bites in and took a moment to look Michael over.

He'd never thought he could have him here, in this room, in this place. He'd -- the best he'd thought was in his bedroom, between his sheets, then out the window again. Not here surveying his bone-walled childhood hellscape like a contractor with a sledge-hammer in the truck.

"Why didn't you sell it? I can't imagine it has a lot of good memories," Michael said, kneeling to look at something under a baseboard, knocking his knuckles against the cherry wood. Alex chewed and swallowed another bite before answering.

"It's not all bad memories. And I'm not going to let him take what I have of my childhood that I liked." He moved down off the stool, his leg giving a warning twinge. But he knew what would help with that.

"Let me show you one," he said, leading Michael down a dark corridor. The locked master bedroom was at the end of the hallway, two small bedrooms on one side and one on the other with a bathroom beside it. He turned to Michael in the darkened hallway, the light of the stars outside following them into the depths of the house, outlining every stray curl on Michael's head. Alex reached out, fingers brushing against his stomach, feeling it jump against his palm, before he gripped his arm.

"When I was little, before Mom left, I would go and play in the hot spring in the back 40," his voice was warm, and he felt Michael sway towards him, drawn to his smile. He took a step backwards, confident in a house he could move in blindfolded, drawing Michael into the bathroom with him. "She'd pick me up from the porch and carry me in here, wash me and the clothes in the tub to save water."

Another step onto the cool tile, the window behind them only showing the barest shapes of the room.

His voice was quiet, pleased when he said: "As soon as I got the deed and before I got out of the VA hospital, I hired a contractor, told him to fix any maintenance the Master Sergeant had neglected and to add this." And with all of the drama of a teenaged goth, he flicked on the warm sconce lights on on either side of the room and fixed his gaze on Michael's face. He wanted to see it -- there it was. The wide-eyes, the slightly parted lips, the wonder as he looked around the room. 

Alex knew what it looked like, had approved the art tiles that covered the floor, had picked-out the turquoise tiles that lined the largest tub the contractor could find, arching up the walls on three sides. He'd had to take out his brother's closet and a good portion of his father's master bedroom, but he'd gotten what he wanted. He stepped backwards again, easing himself to sit on the edge of the tub, wide enough he could balance there to get his prosthetic on or off, towel off without having to stand.

He looked up at the tiles, remembering what he told the contractor. "Those baths with her, her washing my hair, teasing me about being a mud sprite, those were the best memories I had in this house. I wanted to preserve them. And this -- " he ran his hand down the teal tile, savoring the rich blue-green color, "One of my favorite memories from the Middle East was when I was stationed Qatar, preparing to go to Iraq. We had a day free and my unit all went to the Gulf to swim. The color was --" he closed his eyes, seeing it, warm and shallow and different from anything he'd ever imagined existed in the world -- "It was the most beautiful color I had ever seen. I wanted to see it, to remember what was beautiful there."

"That thing must be  _eight feel long_ , Alex," Michael exclaimed, gesturing to the tub. "What do you  _need_ all that for?"

Alex smiled, voice prim and proper when he said: "Hot water baths are good for amputees. It helps with the circulation."

Michael's eyes were full of disbelief. "This isn't a bath, Alex. I've fished in smaller ditches."

Alex grinned, patting the massive tub. "Isn't it great? I got the biggest hot water heater on the market, you can fill it up twice without running out. Want to see?"

Something flashed in Michael's eyes, a heat, a want, and Alex gripped the side of the tub so hard his wrist flashed with a cramp.

"I mean," Alex said, closing his eyes and willing his body to cool down, "I can finish dinner if you wanted to clean up."

A different kind of want flurried across Michael's face and he reached out to rub his hand over the arcing brass faucet, wrapping his hand around it and Alex had to take a breath, to pull himself up and a bit away as Michael looked at the tub the way most people looked at cars or piles of money.

He took a step back, gesturing under the sink: "It's all yours. There's soap, towels, shampoo and conditioner under here, and," and he realized too late that Michael was going to see it, no matter what he did, there was no escaping the teasing. "And bubble bath," he said as quickly as possible.

Michael turned his head to stare at him: "Bubble bath? You can't tell me that's because it's therapeutic."

Alex's face was hot, must be as red as a August sunset, but he told the broad-basined sink with a long, arcing brass faucet hovering over it: "It's nice."

He felt Michael stand, come up behind him, and wrap his arms around his stomach. There weren't any mirrors in the bathroom, but he could imagine how they looked, Michael's long arms around him, his head tipping back onto his shoulder, hair intermingling.

Michael lowered his mouth to Alex's ear: "I don't think I've ever had a bubble bath."

Alex huffed, breath coming fast: "They're pretty great."

Michael's arms tightened around him and Alex bit back a moan, feeling his hips right behind him. Then Michael moved away, kneeling at his feet to look into the cabinet, and Alex felt bereft and a little grateful. He didn't know how often he could call off escalating past the rules they set, and every time it was Michael who backed off, it gave him another chance not to fuck it all up. Every touch made him want to alternately fall into a puddle and climb Michael like a tree, rules be damned.

Michael pulled out the soap and a towel, the bright pink bubble bath with the little cartoon bubbles on it -- Alex was  _never_ going to hear the end of this -- and then his hand rested on the shampoo bottle. He took a shuddering breath.

"I can't wash my hair sober," he whispered, fingers gripping the bottle. Alex folded himself to the floor, wrapping himself around Michael, tucking his head against his chest, Michael's hand not leaving the bottle. He heard him say to his chest: "It's the tugging, I think? It just reminds me -- I couldn't get away, Alex. They were so much bigger than I was. I _couldn't_ \--"

"I know, I know," Alex said, cursing every rat bastard who laid on hand on Michael Guerin. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around him. Michael's hair was pretty tangled; rolling around on the floor learning groundwork could do that to a person.

He had a thought and he couldn't -- the rules were important and he thought they could follow them, but how he was going to -- "I can wash your hair."

Michael froze, then moved slowly in Alex's arms to look into his eyes. There was a shade of red across his cheeks, a wildness to his eyes and -- a kind of hunger. Alex bet it wasn't for sex, though that was always between them. Maybe for something more like touch, like the safety of intimacy, of family. Of home.

"I've washed my own hair after enough head wounds, I can do it without tugging I think. And we can go slow, as slow as you want. Only if you want."

Michael lunged forward, but not for a kiss -- his forehead jammed into Alex's neck, his arms going tight around him, legs all tangled-up together on the floor, face hot and so, so perfect.

"I trust you," he said. "I trust you."

"Alright," Alex said. "Ok. I'm going to --" and it took everything he had to extract himself, to stand with the help of the sturdy sink. "I'm going to get us some swim trunks. You get the bath started, get clean, however you want, and holler when I can come in.

There was a twist of humor in Michael's eyes. "Taking these rules really seriously, aren't we?"

Alex's brow furrowed: "They are important to you. Then they're important to me."

Michael closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before standing, looking down at his clothes.

"I don't have anything to change into."

Alex smiled, voice teasing: "One thing I do know about being queer is that a benefit of dating a man your size is we can share clothes. I've got a load to put in the wash anyway. You can wear my stuff to sleep and your digs should be clean by tomorrow morning."

"I don't need you to do my clothes," Michael started and Alex shook his head.

"I've got a load going in anyway."

Michael looked dubious but he began to pull off his shirt. The smell of him came with the shirt -- sweat and metal and heat and -- Alex backed himself out of the bathroom faster than he would have thought possible. From the darkened hallway, he heard Michael start the bath.

He leaned agains the wall, letting his breath come as fast and hard as he wanted to, knowing the pouring water would cover the sound. He was  _aching_. He closed his eyes, thinking if there was anyplace he could take care of himself before trying to face Michael Guerin in the bath. He closed his eyes, deciding he didn't want to do that. Jerking off while Michael was right next door, it felt like a violation of Rule 1, even if it wasn't. But he wasn't going to rules lawyer. If Michael wanted to keep things lighter, then they would do it. He got going, not needing to turn on the lights to slip into his bedroom to find two pairs of swim trunks.

He knocked on the door, and when Michael answered he opened it just enough to hold them through the crack. Michael took the trunks, hands just barely trailing over his wrist, and handed him a neat stack of his shirt and jeans. There was something in the pockets; probably his underwear and socks. Alex went to the garage, looking at his six piles of undone laundry, and picked on the one closest, and shuffled it in, adding Michael's clothes.

Then Alex went to go drink a glass of very, very cold water and finish his dinner.

The water ran for a long, long time. Much longer than it seemed when it was just Alex in the bath, but since he took at least one a week, he knew how much fun it was to get it as full as possible. It had an overflow drain, so Michael wasn't going to flood the bathroom unless he did something intense with his powers.

He looked at the blank-walled living room, trying to see what Michael had seen in it. It had been mostly empty since he'd shipped out, his Dad moving to base housing rather than commuting from an empty house. He and his brothers had stayed between deployments, but rarely overlapped. There had been a couch, when he'd gotten the place. When he hadn't been able to get his bloodstains out of the back, he'd dragged it into the backyard, chopped the wood of it into kindling and stuffed the rest in the trash. He'd had a nice bonfire that night. 

He hadn't had hope of someone visiting, needing someplace soft to sit. The stool in the kitchen and the chair with a battered table had come from the local Goodwill. They were good enough for him. But with Michael here, he began to wonder: did he want something on the walls? Rugs from the rez, paintings from the desert, something else entirely? Maybe maps, maps of places he'd been, he'd wanted to go? He closed his eyes, bracing his back against the countertop, imagining. Maybe Michael would want to paint stars, paint all the places he could be from? Maybe this house could hold more than ghosts, be lit with more than cold starlight and fluorescents.

"Alex?" He heard Michael call and he slid off the stool. The trunks he'd picked-up for himself were a soft navy blue and he carefully balanced himself on counter to pull his jeans off. He wobbled a little and grimaced. He'd let himself get sedentary since getting back. He did his PT but that was to maintain a baseline, not rebuild the muscle he'd lost in the hospital. If he was going to go out adventuring with Michael, he'd have to do a better job of taking care of himself.

He slipped his shirt off, throwing his jeans and shirt through the doorway and into one of the piles in the garage. On a whim, he grabbed a medium-sized red ceramic bowl from under the kitchen counter and padded barefoot down the hallway.

Michael was a vision in the bath. He was laid all the way back, legs straight out in front of him, arms resting broadly on the back of the tub, which was full of bubbles.

Alex hitched his hip against the door. "How do you like the bubbles?"

"Mmmm," Michael hummed to himself, before floating a heap of them like a heat-seeking cloud across the room to splat against Alex's bare chest.

"Bleh," Alex said, wiping the tingling, popping bubbles off and into the sink. "Are you going to move forward so I have room to get in?"

Michael rolled his head against the back of the tub in the laziest head shake Alex had ever seen. Then he took a deep breath and leaned forward, pulling his kneels up, bracing his elbows on them, head against his forearms, hands dangling. It was a show of laconicism, but Alex could see the line of tension in his back.

"We don't have to --" Alex murmured, looking to where Michael had left the shampoo bottle laying on the floor. 

This time Michael's nod was firm, eyes closed: "I trust you. And I'm tired of it being dirty."

"Alright," Alex said, setting the bowl down and lowering himself to pick-up the bottle and the conditioner and snag the widest tined comb he has out from under the sink. Then he's stepping towards the tub.

There was enough room behind Michael for him to sit, but they were going to be pretty close.

He would just have to deal.

Alex sat on the side of the tub, unhitching his prosthetic, setting it to the side where it wouldn't get wet, setting the bowl on the floor beside the tub. Then he turned and took a breath.

There were -- scars. On Michael's back. Ones he'd seen before, touched before; but there was something about seeing them on the body of a grown man's body that hurt. He always hoped they would grow out of their scars. But sometimes the scars just grew with them.

"Ready?" he asked, and Michael nodded. Alex laid a hand on his shoulder, and Michael tried to cover the way he jerked at the touch and any sense of erotic tension fled from Alex's body. He was going to focus on making Michael feel safe with every piece of him, even if he had to be reviewing sorting algorithms from selection to bubble to radix sort in his head to keep his focus.

Alex slid behind him, good leg folded in between his hips and Michael's, giving them some distance.

"Ok, I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do before I do it. I'm going to need you to talk to me, to tell me you're ok. You can use stoplight colors if it helps --"

"I  _knew_ you knew some queer culture, Alex Manes. You learn stoplights at a leather club?" 

Alex flushed, glad Michael couldn't see. "A book, actually. I thought -- " He shook his head: "It doesn't matter."

"You thought what?"

Alex wanted to bury his face in Michael's back, but he kept himself back. "I didn't know what I liked, didn't have anyone -- didn't  _want_ anyone -- but I also didn't want to come back the same boy I left. So I read, to try to think about what I like."

Alex could sense Michael gearing-up to push this further, to flirt, to distract and so he said quietly: "I'm going to need to get your hair wet."

"That's never been the issue," Alex reached over the side for the bowl, filling it with soapy water, and gently pouring it over Michael's bowed head. He spoke, water down the side of his face: "In the winter, I can just jump in the seasonal creek and it's fine. It's only in the summer it's a problem."

Alex poured another bowlful over his head, getting the sides this time. 

"I'm going to put in the conditioner."

Michael nodded and Alex kept talking, hands working the conditioner into a lather. He figured he'd need its slickness to undo the knots before trying to get anything clean: "Did I ever tell you about the spring in the back?" 

"Nope," Michael said as Alex gentle massaged the conditioner in, pressing his fingertips to his scalp, touch as soft as he could make it. Michael hummed and it sounded pleased. Alex braced his forearms against his shoulders and began working his way through his curls. They were so much longer when they were wet. There were a few big mattes, but nothing he couldn't handle.

"It's a weird hot spring, since the nearest volcano is Sierra Blanca, north of the rez, almost 100 miles east. But there must be some kind of magma near here, because the water comes up hot year-round."

"That sounds nice," Michael said, voice subdued. Alex swept his thumbs along the back of his neck and Michael made a small sound in his throat; a good sound.

"I'm going to use the comb, ok?"

"Yeah," Michael said and his voice was a little breathy. As Alex reached over the side, Michael's left hand slipped off his knee and drifted through the water to grip Alex's bent knee at his hip.

"Can I get a color?"

Michael took a breath: "Green."

"Ok," Alex said, starting to comb the parts of Michael's hair which were already straight with water, getting them in order. The tines were long and dull, broader than Alex needed. He didn't know why he'd picked-up this comb at the drugstore, but he had, years ago, and kept it in his sock drawer. He guessed he'd thought it might be good for curls.

Michael shimmied a little at the feeling of the tines, and Alex paused, but then Michael leaned back a little closer to him, and he kept going, something unclenching in his chest. Michael's fingers weren't tight around Alex's knee; they were flexing, grazing, nails short and fingertips wrinkled with water.

The water was starting to cool when Alex finished with the conditioner. Michael's hand was still on his knee, but it was as boneless as the rest of him.

"Love, I'm going to need to rinse this out of your hair. Can you get the drain and we'll fill up the tub again with hot water?'

Michael was still for a moment, when Alex felt his fingers twitch against his skin and the plug began to drain. As the water swished out from around them, Alex reminded him to close his eyes and gentled the least-soapy water through his hair until it was long and dark and straight under the weight of the water. Once it the water was as low as their hips, Alex asked for him to refill the tub. Another flick of his fingers and the water was on, just the right temperature, and plug back in.

"Ready for shampoo?"

Michael hummed.

"Can I get a color?'

"Green as cash," Michael said, his voice slow and sleepy.

Alex lathered the shampoo and then eased it into his curls. They were smooth, nothing to tug, only the pads of his fingers against Michael's scalp. He coaxed Michael into letting the water from the tap cascade over his head until the shampoo was out, then sitting back to let him work in the conditioner.

"We'll leave this in for a few minutes. It'll help everything stay smooth." Alex said and Michael nodded, leaning back slowly into him, slow as breathing, giving Alex ample time to call a halt. He didn't. He couldn't, not really.

Michael's back touched Alex's shoulders first, his body hunched like a shield around him. He kept easing back, pressing Alex back against the cool tile of the wall, the cold sharp compared with the hot water around them, his body jerking at the contrast. Michael stilled but Alex murmured: "It's fine. I'm fine."

He took him at his word and kept relaxing backwards until he was laying in Alex's lap, broad back pressed against his chest, Alex's arms looping lazily under his. Alex found they were matching breaths, each breath raising Michael's body in the water.

"So the hot springs. They come out of the ground scalding, and there's this muddle little ankle pool where they go, cool off enough to enjoy. I've always wanted to dig it out more, to get a real soak. But," he swallowed, feeling his chest press into Michael's more with the movement, "It's hard to get out there now, a half-mile over broken ground."

Michael nodded, slowly. "We can work up to it."

Alex could see it, see a whole life. Days at work, nights here, weekends and early mornings out on the land, in the clear bright desert air, Michael knowing every piece of this adopted land as well as Alex did. Everything on it shared.

"Yeah," Alex said.

A few breaths more and he felt Michael relax further; he thought he might be drifting off. He steeled himself and said:

"Let's get the conditioner out, then we can get to bed."

"Umm hmm," Michael said easily, letting himself be maneuvered up, the bowl with the clean water flowing over his hair again and again until the runoff ran clear.

Alex got up first, balancing on the edge of the tub to snag a towel and dry himself off as well as he could while wearing swim trunks. The air was drifting with steam, the smell of the soaps and bubble bath filling the room. He look over and saw Michael was awake, looking up at him with wide, soft eyes, mouth a little parted. His expression was gentler than any Alex could remember seeing, softer too. He didn't know he could love this man more than he did, but here he was.

He reached over for the dry towel, laying it on the edge of the tub.

"I'm going to get some sleeping clothes," he said, and realized he'd forgotten to bring his cane in. He closed his eyes, a wave of frustration rising over him. He'd gotten so wrapped-up, he'd left it in the kitchen. He looked over at his prosthetic. He really didn't want to go through the hassle of getting it on again just to get to bed. If he was the only one here, he'd just sort of hop or crawl. But he didn't want to --

"Ok if I give you a hand?" Michael said, a hand going to Alex's elbow. Alex expected to be pissed, to not want the help. But all he felt was soft relief, a feeling of a long-dread held back by the dawn.

"Thanks," he said and Michael stood, toweling himself off before offering Alex his shoulder. Together, they walked to the hallway and Michael paused, not sure which door to open.

"This one," Alex said, pointing to the door closest to the master bedroom. Michael nodded and together they slowly walked to the closed door, swim trunks dripping on the hardwood the whole way.

They opened it and it was exactly as Alex had left it: bare walls, twin bed with grey blankets tucked with hospital corners, two pillows (a luxury), and more books than could fit into any shelves (the only thing he liked about it). Fantasy and history and comics; literature and music books and language books and coding books; books on drawing and planes and architecture, on countries he'd killed in and countries where he'd always wanted to live. They were the only constants, the only things he would take out of this house if it burned. He felt Michael take a breath against him.

"I was honestly expecting Green Day posters," he murmured and Alex choked back a laugh. 

"Posters weren't allowed. But really, it would have been My Chemical Romance. Even I wasn't dumb enough to put 'American Idiot' up on the walls of this house." His voice was low, cracking a little. He must be tired.

"Maybe you should," Michael said. "Maybe you should paint every wall with rainbows or band lyrics or -- whatever the fuck. It's your house now."

Alex smiled as Michael shuffled them towards the bureau.

"Top left," he said and Michael opened the drawer, pulling out two pairs of drawstring sleeping pants. He helped Alex over to the bed and said:

"You get changed while I get your cane."

Alex nodded. Michael helping him was special and kind and perfect, but he still preferred to be entirely under his own power. He ignored his body's reaction when he shucked his soaked swim trunks and slipped into the clean cotton of the pants. He tossed the wet trunks onto the heaped towel and told himself he'd deal with them in the morning.

Michael's knock was soft, nearly as soft as his had been on his trailer -- was that only the night before?

He called out: "Come in,"

And Michael stepped inside, and oh, if Alex hadn't already prepared himself he would be helpless before Michael Guerin wearing _his clothes_. The man wore them  _well_. And, he not only got the front view, but after Michael handed him his cane and grabbed the wet towel and trunks to take them to dry in the bathroom, he got the back view as well.

 _Three months_. He reminded himself:  _Jesus. Three months._

Michael came back in, hitching his hip against the door, arms folded.

"You ok sharing the bed? I can take the floor."

Alex was shaking his head before he finished the sentence. "No way you're taking the floor. We'll make it work."

"Still following the rules?" Michael asked, and there was something uneven in his voice. Like he half wanted Alex to reneg, half wanted him to confirm they were on the same page. Alex looked closer, the fold of his arms, the tight way he held his face. No, it wasn't half. That was the face Michael Guerin made when he was preparing to be disappointed. He  _wanted_ Alex to hold on to their rules.

"Like I said. They're important to you, so they're important to me."

"Ok," Michael said, stepping into the room. Alex pressed his back against the cool white wall, giving Michael most of the space and getting the covers around his legs. Michael slipped into bed, lying on his back, arm closest to Alex folded under his head. Alex thought for just a moment and then tucked himself under Michael's arm, some kind of wave of feeling moving across him at the feeling of Michael all around him again. The feeling of his arm over his back, and -- there. The thing he had missed for months, for  _years._

The sound of Michael Guerin's heart under his cheek, beating out second-by-second proof that he was here and safe.

He felt Michael sigh: "If I don't say it enough, Alex Manes, I need you to know. I love you with everything I am."

"I love you too, Michael. I love you."

And he settled into Michael chest and let sleep take him down into peaceful quiet.

 


	5. Eleven Weeks, Five Days, and 18 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update today -- things were tough today for reasons I had control over, but that didn't make it easier. But tomorrow will dawn bright, shiny, and chrome and there will be a longer update then!

Monday morning dawned bright, sun shining muzzily through the dusty blinds of Alex's bedroom. He'd kept his arms around Michael all night, right leg crooked over his hips. When he snapped awake, he froze, every muscle in his body tight. Then, without letting himself think about it too far, he pressed his face into Michael's chest, smelling the sweat smell of him, now mixed with the shared smells of his bubblebath and his sheets, and he felt those muscles ease again, starting with this stomach and back, down his hips and up the sway of his back, until his hands were as soft as they ever got. If he'd known Michael was sleeping over, he'd -- he closed his eyes. He wanted his house to be someplace they could be. Not just a mausoleum to family who didn't deserve the name. He couldn't see it, what it would look like, but he knew what it felt like: his head on Michael's chest, every breath living proof they'd won.

"You're awake," he heard Michael murmur and he remembered that morning he'd woken up in his Airstream, broken his heart again. He threw his arm across his ribs, squeezing tightly.

"Hey, hey," Michael said sleepily. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." There was a pause: "Unless -- what time is it?"

"Just before 6am --" Alex started and Michael made an absolutely disgusted sound and flopped over onto his side, pressing his entire back and the round curve of him against Alex's front. Alex tried, as quickly as he could, to recall IS recruitment stats, review ceremonial rules for addressing generals from other branches of the military, calculate the area of a sphere -- but he wasn't fast enough. Michael had noticed the one, clear indicator of how happy Alex was to have him warm and close in his bed.

He didn't move closer but he also didn't move away, his breathing hitching against him. It was the sweetest torture Alex could think of and he arched a little away from him, just to try and get some relief.

He felt Michael chuckle more than heard him: "Consequences of sharing a bed."

He nodded and then forced himself to say: "And a consequence of drinking with Maria is my truck is still at the Wild Pony."

Michael shrugged: "I can give you a ride, I don't have to be at work until 8."

Alex sighed, Michael wriggling a little as his breath blossomed across his back. "Unfortunately, I have to be at work at 7am."

"Aaarrg," Michael said, articulately.

"I know, but I've got my check-in with my team and I need to let them know I'm not re-upping so they can get started with transition planning."

Michael's left hand reached up, slid the length of his arm, and Alex suppressed a shiver that would bring them together in a way they were trying to avoid for reasons his morning mind could not entirely recall.

"You're sure about leaving?" Michael asked, voice tiny, like he was testing Alex's resolve. His commitment. To him. To them. Not trusting it, even as he trusted Alex with his fragilest self.

"It's time," Alex said, pushing himself up. "It's been more than enough time."

Michael took the hint and began to lever himself out of bed, rooting around on the ground for Alex's stump sock and prosthesis. He laid them in easy reach on the bed.

"The clothes are in the dryer?"

And Alex picked up his pillow and tried to smother himself with it with a frustrated sound. He lowered it to see a very concerned Michael Guerin staring at him with those wide eyes, wearing nothing but Alex's favorite flannel PJs.

Alex muttered: "I forgot to move it to the dryer. You can wear my stuff, pants in the middle drawer, t-shirts in the closet. I'm really sorry, Michael, I forgot --"

Michael grinned, moving over to the dresser, pulling out what he needed before turning to the closet. Once his back was the Alex, he said:

"I seem to remember being a part of distracting you. Alex, I wanted to say --"

"If you're going to thank me, you can move the clothes over and not judge my laundry piles."

Michael plucked a t-shirt from the closet -- black, a little slim for Alex's shoulders and practically sinful on Michael's -- and said: "'Pile _s,_ ' plural?"

Alex busied himself with his leg. "I've been busy."

Michael drew the shirt over his head and yep, it was form fitting in the shoulders and Alex just wanted to take it right back off of him again. His eyes were narrowed though, still focused on his question:

"Too busy to put in the handrails you need to get around without your cane?" His voice was surprisingly mild; Michael Guerin didn't usually do subtle or tactful. It looked like he was trying something else new on along with the clothes.

He began to pull down his sleeping pants and Alex looked away. He didn't know if Michael minded but he, himself, would not be able to focus on a damn thing today if he had Michael's body, fresh from his bed, imprinted on his eyeballs. When he heard his zipper go up, he dared to look, catching Michael just as he was adjusting his shirt, the trail of hair down his belly looking --

Alex refocused: "I'm going to get to it," voice trending towards defensive.

Michael nodded, shoulders hunching a little against the fabric. He pulled off the shirt, rehung it, and pulled on a soft, thick grey henley. Alex's fingers were tingling with the expanse of clean skin. He finished the final snap on his prosthesis and pulled himself up by the black painted headboard. It wobbled under his hands and he leaned away from it, forcing himself to balance on his prosthetic and his one good foot. He grimaced and then glanced up to see Michael looking at him, something like a plan forming on his face.

"Coffee?" He said and Alex's heart bloomed with gratitude.

"God, yes."

Michael grinned and ducked in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading to the kitchen.

Alex took a breath, trying to talk his body into calming down. It was one, little, perfect kiss. His heart shouldn't be racing and his hands shouldn't be shaking. He closed his eyes, trying to breath it down. Then he got into his uniform, feel and hang of it telling him who he was and needed to be in a way he'd sometimes found comforting and often just a bit off-kilter.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he saw Michael had found the two clean cups and was harassing the analog percolator into functioning. Alex didn't have the heart to tell him he usually just used the instant he kept in the freezer; he didn't like it, but it was fast and woke him up.

Michael turned around and his eyes got wide. "I don't know if I've seen you in those since the parade." He said, taking a soft step towards him, hand reaching out to adjust his collar. Alex knew it had been straight before, but he found himself smoothing Michael's already smooth henley over his stomach. "This is one of my favorites."

Michael's eyes drifted shut at the touch and then the percolator finally started working and he turned back to it. Alex heard the dryer going and rested on the stool beside the microwave. Michael didn't look up from where he was mad dogging the percolator when he said:

"You remember when they took down the rehab wing of the base hospital last month?"

"Yeah, I had to shout over construction equipment the whole self-defense class."

"I bought a bunch of the rails and other assistive architecture stuff. They were just going to throw it away and it was in good condition, so I got it cheap. It's in a container in the junk yard. We had extra space." His face was still, his hands on the counter.

"I'd thought -- we weren't talking, then. But I thought --" he shook his head, taking a breath. "What I'm saying is, maybe this weekend, if you want to, we can, I don't know, have a building day." He glanced over at Alex and then back to the percolator.

"We can make it a family thing -- Max is good with a drill and Maria and Liz know their way around power tools."

Alex cocked his head, something caught in his throat. He coughed, covering his mouth and rubbing at the side of his temple. Maybe he was hung-over? Why was he feeling this rush behind his eyes?

"Do you think they would do that?"

Michael huffed, turning around, hand going to Alex's biceps, warm fingers denting the crisp fabric: "Alex, I think they would  _love_ to."

He shook his head and said: "We can ask them, but I don't know --"

Michael smiled, switching out the coffee cups and handing the first one to Alex: "Great. I'll check-in with them today." 

Alex took a deep sip of the near-scalding coffee and felt his higher functions coming online.

"You bought them just in case?"

Michael flushed and nodded, turning back to the percolator: "I've always held a space for you, in case you wanted it."  _Wanted me_ , echoed into the quiet.

Alex set down his coffee and stepped up behind him, arms going around his waist as Michael breathed into him. He didn't have words for the expanding, filling thing he was feeling. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Michael's neck and hoped he understood through his skin the things he didn't know how to say.

Into his ear he murmured: "So what are we doing for our next date?"

"Home improvement doesn't count as a date?" Michael teased, pulling his coffee cup out and blowing over to top before taking a sip.

"That's not until Saturday, right? Did you want to wait until then to see each other again?' Alex asked carefully.

" _Fuck_ no," Michael said and Alex felt a grin slip across his face.

"So? What's the plan?"

Michael took another drink of his coffee and then glanced at the clock -- "I'll think about it on the drive -- we've got to get going."

Alex nodded, snagging his cover from the counter and tucking it under his arm as they headed to Michael's truck.

\--

They settled on a night hike on Wednesday night. They both had long work hours that week and Michael had evenings with Max nearly every night. But Michael knew Max liked to haunt Crashdown on Wednesday nights and Alex could get that day's briefings read early if he got into work at 5am rather than 7am.

They had a plan.

That didn't have to mean they liked it.

Alex wanted to hold Michael and never let go. Michael wanted to sleep beside him every night and start fixing that waiting nightmare of a house  _right now_. But Michael explained why this way on the ride back into Roswell:

"When plants grow in the desert, they can either grow lots of roots or lots of leaves. The leaves are what people buy plants for, because no one admires someone else's front yard root system at a neighborhood meeting. But that's how you get tumbleweeds, plants that just pull-up roots and shrivel themselves as soon as there's not enough water. And tumbleweeds survive. They survive in places nothing else will grow because they're never really planted; just waiting for the next drought, the next strong breeze. And the places they end-up, they don't contribute anything to the soil, don't provide shelter or shade or hold water in the ground. But other plants, like a saguaro, they grow roots out as wide as they are tall and deep tap roots into the ground. And these roots not only ensure they can hold water for themselves in the dry season, but all of those little roots also keep water in the soil for everything else. Birds and lizards and thirsty people all know to head for a saguaro if the really need water. Nobody compliments a plant on its roots, but roots are what let everything around a plant thrive. And those roots take a long time to grow. So if we take a little bit at a time, if we build each other into our lives one shoot at a time, then we not only grow stronger ourselves, but also bring that strength to everyone around us."

It was wise and kind and nerdy and Alex couldn't love him more for thinking that way. But that didn't change the way he flashed on Michael's body beside him at the least helpful moments of the day. Michael wasn't doing much better, texting Alex pictures of his work projects and trying to figure out how they could see each other during their non-overlapping 30 minute lunch breaks. 

Wednesday night couldn't come soon enough for either of them.


	6. Eleven Weeks, Three Days, and 7 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Pure, uncut fluff. Happy Saturday!

Alex's eyes were fixed on the long, thin strip of soft-looking cloth hanging from Michael's hands.

"Do you trust me?" He heard Michael ask.

"Yes," he said, and he was proud to say that a real sound came out of his throat when he said it, not just a dry whisper. "But I haven't seen one of those since SERE training," naming the special forces program in Spokane, WA that theoretically prepared soldiers for torture and interrogation. It wasn't fun, but it was nothing on surviving being a closeted queer kid in the Manes house. 

That house loomed behind them as they leaned against Michael's sky blue truck, blindfold between them. It was just after work, the sunset racing red and gold across the desert landscape. Michael had been mysterious all day about _where_ exactly they were going hiking and he'd agreed to meet him here as "a starting place."

Alex wanted to just dive in, jump off the rock and deep into whatever adventure Michael had concocted in the 48 hours since they'd last seen each other. But --

"I'm just -- " he spoke to the broken earth that surrounded his house, unpulled rocks and unfilled rain gullies unevenly rippling across the surface, "I'm not as stable as I used to be."

Michael took a hitching half-step towards him, hand pressing warm and tight against his diaphragm, and Alex felt a measure of calm sooth through him at the touch. He knew it wasn't an alien power that made him feel safe and right and protected; that had always just been Michael.

"We'll just try for a few steps, and if it works, a few more steps. We can make it the whole way, just a few steps at a time," Michael said, voice a broken whisper that Alex just wanted to chase, to kiss his words back into his mouth, to tell him in the language they'd always both spoken best how willing he was. 

Instead, he just nodded and repeated:  "I trust you."

Michael's hands traced an outline up his torso and Alex had to stifle his shortening breath as he closed his eyes and felt Michael fasten the cloth over his eyes. He wavered a little without his eyes to help center himself in the world, but then he felt Michael's hand close over his elbow and he felt as solid on his feet as he ever did.

"We've got a drive, then a walk, then the surprise," Michael whispered in his ear. "Tell me you're ok."

"Green," Alex said and was pleased to hear it was Michael's turn to catch his breath.

"Good, good," he said distractedly as he gently guided Alex to the truck's passenger door. Alex slung himself into the side of the truck -- he'd only sat in it a handful of times, but he'd re-lived those moments so many times in the past 10 years he could sketch the pattern the leather stitching left in the back of this thighs from memory. He hitched himself into the seatbelt, hands roving freely over the dash as he felt Michael shut the door. If he was able to see, there's no way he'd be so touchy with Michael's truck, but since he could blame it on the sensory deprivation, he luxuriated in getting to put his hands all over the aged plastic, chrome, and leather that had been Michael's only stable home for the years when he had been gone.

Michael got in and started them towards the highway. Three left-hand turns in and Alex was struggling to hide his smile. Finally he heard Michael huff a: "What?"

And Alex said, voice as even as he could make it: "I can tell when we're going in the circle."

"Hush. You're going to spoil the surprise." Michael said, but Alex felt his hand slide down his thigh to pat his knee to take any sting out of the words. His hand stayed there, some kind of tension running through him as they drove back down what must be Alex's driveway, but it felt strangely smooth beneath his tires. Alex shook his head, frowning as he tried to review the turns they'd made. He _had_ to be back at his house, but when Michael helped him out of the cab, the ground under his feet felt different, smooth where it should be stubbled with hibernating desert grass and cragged with rain runnels.

Michael took his elbow and guided him forward, his hand a warm anchor at his elbow, his body never more than inches away. The ground felt hard-packed with a thin layer of sand, the perfect amount of grip for his prosthetic, enough bounce to keep his stump from jamming on the down-step but not so much as to waste energy pushing out of it on each step. 

Alex ducked his head into Michael's shoulder, feeling the solidity of it and pressing a kiss through the layered flannel of his shirt, the smell of him pushed away by the wind until his nose was nearly touching him.

Alex's pace remained slow as he passed what the change in wind told him must be the house. He kept expecting every step to turn into a stumble, every moment Michael to get out of synch with him and trip him up. But the ground remained firm and flat, even when he _knew_ he must be crossing what should have been furrowed crags.

They were out near the shed now, if he'd gauged their direction accurately. His eyes fluttered open against the blindfold, the soft fabric catching against his eyelids. A bit of light crept in, but not enough to betray anything. He closed his eyes, his pace evening out and elongating a little as Michael kept-up, never leaving his side, stride matching his. He imagined what he might find in the shed -- a dinner? Candles? An adapted guitar or something Michael could play with one hand? A movie? He could smell the dusty two-by-four, drill-bit smell of it already, could feel the way the close walls had always made him feel safe as he tried to heal, tried to escape -- and he'd had a decade of practice forcing himself to think only of the good things about the shed, not letting his father taint them, not letting him take a single second more from them than he already had.

But they continued on past the shed, the walk long but Alex barely felt it, his athlete's body glorying in the chance to be out in the world and not constantly worried if he would have the energy to get where he needed to go.

He heard a sound, a sound like rocks moving and scraping and Michael slowed them for a moment, Alex easing to a stop beside him.

"Sorry --" Michael said, his voice strained like he was lifting an engine block, there was a sound of rocks crumbling, the hiss of sand against stone.

"There we go," he said, tugging Alex's elbow to get him moving forward again. They walked and Alex could feel his fingers tingling, his cheeks tight with his smile as he realized what Michael had been doing. But rather than risk being told a second time not the ruin the surprise, he kept his peace and let Michael have hold his secrets.

Knowing he could trust his feet not to stumble on the still-even ground, he wrapped his free arm around Michael's waist, fingers tucking themselves under his shirt, pressing against the undershirt. It was damp, like Michael had been working in the hot sun, but his breathing was still even, still comfortable, so whatever this was costing him, it wasn't more than he could pay. Alex twined his fingers against the skin there, almost tickling but never quite getting there, just enjoying being able to touch him in this small, intimate, unhindered way.

Finally, they stopped, Michael stepping around in front of him, hands going to his biceps as Alex kept his palm against his back, their boots sharing the same bit of cleared sand as a quiet sound of trickling water surrounded them. Michael's face must have been inches from his, his breath sharing the same rapidly charging air between them. He slid his fingers up Alex's arms, sweeping across his collarbone and rising to hold his jaw, touch as light as a butterfly's, angling Alex's face and sweeping his thumbs across his cheeks.

"This isn't a kiss," he whispered into the spare distance between them, "I just need to see something,"

"Ok," Alex said and then his felt Michael's lips brush his, just once, then a little deeper, coming in and then away, building something, something massive between them. Vaguely, under the sound of their shared breathing, Alex heard the wind moving, swirling around them, whipping faster and faster, sand pinging against the outsides of his boots and down his legs, small rocks tick-tick-ticking against the sides of their boots. Michael's breath was coming faster but his fingertips stayed light on Alex's skin, tracing their way up his jawbone, behind the sensitive skin of his ears and deep into his hair, moving in patterns Alex was in not a state to decipher.

Alex had kept his hands steady on Michael's back this whole time, letting him drive, but on the first sweep of Michael's fingertips up the back of his neck he surged forward, hips pressing into Michael's, hands ruching up his shirt in desperation for just a little more skin, tongue seeking entry that Michael opened for so sweetly. Alex's fingertips counted Michael's vertebrae, dragging across the work-strong muscles of his back before slipping under the waistband of his jeans, making Michael curse against his mouth, one hand gripping the back of Alex's neck as the other tried to stabilize against his hip, tried to climb those impossible millimeters closer. When Alex was seriously considering working his hand around to the front of them just to get some _friction_ , Michael pulled back, Alex chasing his mouth until he felt Michael's hand pressing full and flat against his chest, stilling him. 

As the sound of his volcanic blood quieted, he heard the sound of stones clicking, a massive, deep sound like sounded far off it was so deep, but the sliding of gravel told him it was near, all backed by the sound of rushing water. Michael walked his fingers up Alex's chest as that sound subsided, leaving them with the natural wind and the desert quiet, plucking off the blindfold and stepping up beside him so Alex could see --

"Michael," he whispered, taking a step forward onto the perfectly leveled ground. He glanced back, and sure as he'd guessed, Michael had somehow created a perfectly even path, winding elegantly all the way back past the shed to the cabin, lined on either side by a border of sunset red rocks, moonlight glimmering off of their newly-shattered edges. As incredible as that path was, what lay in front of him was even more breathtaking.

"Michael," he murmured again.

Michael shuffled his feet: "You said you'd been wanting to dig it out and I figured if you like that monster tub so much, you might like this even more."

Alex dragged Michael down into a searing kiss, Michael's hands banding around him so tight, breath still coming in gasps, body trembling against his, but eyes so, so bright.

He breathed into his mouth: "You like it?"

Alex pressed his forehead against Michael's, relishing the hot skin and fresh sweat before turning back to the scene before them.

Michael had taken the tiny, muddle hot spring of Alex's childhood and turned it into an oasis. He'd preserved the original channel in the richly red stone, reinforcing it with smooth, sturdy rock and letting the flow arc out over an armspread-wide waterfall into a deep pool. There were large boulders every few arm lengths so Alex could have something to hold onto if he got unsteady, every entry a long, gentle slope with a high rail of polished stone on the left for a hand hold. Carved into a massive boulder off to the side he must have pulled from deep in the earth was a sheltered area with a bench of gently-curving stone, big enough for two to sit out of the rain, close enough to dangle their feet up to the knees in without getting overheated.

Alex was too stunned to say anything so Michael began to ramble: "The waterfall cools the water down enough that it's not scalding by the time it gets to the pool, and the pool is wide enough that the wind will cool down the top and keep the water circulating. I thought," and he gestured around the edges, "I can dig down some deep containers directly into the stone and we can plant some shady plants, to help keep the water cool and make it a place animals can come for a drink when we're not using it." 

He turned and pointed to a section of ruddy rock Alex hadn't noticed before, a curving stream that served as the overflow outlet, "That goes into a french drain that's about 10 feet deep, so it won't ever flood, no matter how strong the rains come." He smiled, face tentative: "And if it's raining, we can still come out, under the trees once they come in, and over there --" he pointed to the shelter, "while they're still growing in. I figured it might help with your leg, having someplace you can swim a little and we can change anything you --"

And Alex was crushing his mouth to Michael's, hands gripping the back of his neck as Michael melted into him: "I love it," he gasped, "I love it and I love you and I cannot think of any kinder thing anyone has ever done for me --"

Michael laughed a little, hands easing down Alex's back, slowing him down, giving him a slower tempo as he pulled back: "If I was drawing my power from my usual sources, then I'd be knocked out for a week sucking down acetone and hungover out of my mind for a week."

At Alex's questioning look, Michael said: "Panic, fear, anger, hate, pain -- those have always been my triggers. Someone coming towards me with a fist upraised and they're going to be knocked the fuck out. It's like taking a blow every time I deal one out."

He cocked his head, marveling at something in Alex's eyes before pulling him in, cheeks against each other's, his breathing hot against Alex's ear: "But this time, I didn't fuel this with rage. It didn't come from pain," his voice dropped low and Alex felt his stomach flip when he said: "It came from love."

Alex buried his face in Michael's shoulder, overcome for a moment and hugging him so tight he was sure he must be restricting his breathing. But Michael kept holding him, kept touching him, slow and steady, until he could pull back.

Alex had a million things he wanted to say, wanted to do, but instead he slid his hand down Michael's arm, wrapping his fingers around his good hand and tugging him towards the water --

"Let's try it out."

It took a few minutes of logistics and Alex discovered a dozen things Michael had done -- there was a high shelf perfectly moulded for his prosthetic; easy handrails everywhere so he could move fluidly and freely; the water was hot and warming the stone, raising up around them in slightly sulfuric clouds. He'd ask Mimi what desert plants smelled good and liked water -- she'd always kept a beautiful garden and he knew she'd love this place as much as he did.

Then they were stripped down to their briefs and wading into the water, Michael swimming to the furthest rock as Alex got a sense of how he could move in the water. His steps were wobbly as he adjusted to the drag of the water, but soon enough he was finding ways to let the water carry his weight, using his hands to move to the deepest part, where he could keep a grip on the edge and just -- let his body float. 

There'd been a hot tub at the hospital for post-conditioning recovery, along with a much-hated but much-needed ice bath. But the moulded plastic and chlorine-perfumed water had nothing on swimming in wild desert water, feeling its low currents move around him, ease him this way and that. His eyes had drifted closed, one hand anchoring him to the edge as his body, when he heard Michael's soft call:

"You're going to want to see this." He opened his eyes and looked straight up into a million, billion stars, the Milky Way positioned perfectly over him, every star he'd ever imagined and billions he'd never know the name of keeping him company. He glanced across the water and though the waterfall kept it from being a perfect mirror, he could see the shimmer of those stars, golden and silver, tracing across the surface of the water.

But for once, Michael wasn't gazing up at the stars. 

Alex couldn't see him at all.

"Up here," he said, and Alex craned his neck to see Michael had somehow gotten behind the waterfall, his face peeking out from around it. Alex swam over and behind the steaming, star-glitter filled curtain, seeing now Michael had dug a cave behind it a few feet above the water level, reachable by a stone ladder and railing with good grip. The cave was deep enough to lay down in flat without getting wet, the ceiling radiating warmth but the floor refreshingly cool. Alex figured it must be the ground base temperature, unchanged by sun or the warm air around it. Michael was sitting with his knees over the edge and when Alex moved to sit beside him, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, the whole expanse of his slick bare side coming into contact with Alex's all at once. Alex toppled his head onto Michael's shoulder, eyes closed, all the tension from the walk and the kiss having slipped away in pool, body content to hold and be held.

"I figure, this is a place we can go, if we need to get away," he said, and there he was, the Michael always clocking exit routes, always making a plan. Alex nodded, feeling his body cool against the stone. A thought occurred to him and he stifled a laugh:

"What?" Michael said, voice lazy and warm.

"We're going to get coyotes," Alex said. He waved his hand around them. "We're going to get coyotes building a den in here and there's nothing we can do about it. It's a perfect den."

Michael narrowed his eyes: "I can change it --"

Alex shook his head, leaning it against Michael's shoulder again: "Everyone needs a place to hide sometimes. And if we get coyotes, it just means we're not using it enough. We can let them handle the litter and then clear them out, move them along to another den." He closed his eyes, voice soft: "He used to shoot at coyotes, not matter what Mom said about them, not matter how important they are to the people who are from here and the stories we tell and the land. If we get coyotes, we shouldbe so lucky."

Michael tipped his head onto Alex's, the gentle pressure releasing some kind of gentle wave across his skin, coming out in a sighing breath.

"I don't know any coyote stories," Michael murmured. "I know there _are_ stories, but it wasn't ever --"

Alex hummed. "I have to brush up on them, but I can ask the kids in the self-defense class. They were Mom's and when she left, there was no one to tell them to us."

Michael's hand gripped his shoulder and Alex smiled, saying quietly: "Once I'm a civvie, maybe there's more I can do, to connect with that part of me."

Michael nodded, content the let the waterfall answer, to say it's piece about the power of undammed things, the way nothing is ever really stopped, it just needs to find its way to the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll keep writing this for a bit, but I promise there is a defined conclusion!


	7. Eleven Weeks and One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a discussion of why Alex enlisted. Jesse Manes remains a war crime.

Promptly at 6am on Saturday, Alex heard Michael Guerin's truck park on the newly-flat driveway. He heard him use his key to unlock the front door, dump his boots in a heap by the door, Stetson on the counter, walk down the bare wood of the corridor and tentatively knock at his door. 

"Morning," Alex said as Michael slipped in and shut the door behind him, before walking over and crawling into Alex's narrow bed, tucking his back against his front. Alex made room as Michael wriggled down until he could sling an arm around his waist, Michael's flannel shirt still morning-air cool against Alex's bare chest, his jeans catching on his soft sleeping pants.

Michael murmured: "Max and Kyle and Liz and Maria are going to be here at 8."

Alex buried his face in the back of Michael's neck: "So you figured you'd arrive two hours early?"

"This bed is horrible," Michael said, not answering Alex's question and wiggling to get comfortable. "It feels like it's 20 years old."

"It probably _is_ 20 years old," Alex replied, "I got an adult bed when I was 8, so yeah, it's 20 years old."

"That's horrible," Michael repeated.

"Since when do you have opinions on mattresses?" 

Alex couldn't see, but he could certainly feel Michael glaring at him.

"Does it feel good, sleeping on this thing?"

Alex was quiet, burying his face in the back of Michael's neck as Michael kept talking, gentle fingers on the thin skin of his inner arm belaying his strident tone: "I'd understand if you wanted to sell this place, or burn it to the fucking ground for all the good it did you growing up. But as long as you don't object, I also think if you're going to stay here, you should make it work for you. That can mean as little as the rails we're putting in today, and as much as knocking out walls and bricking off the master bedroom or whatever it is you need to do to make this feel like what it is."

"What's that?" Alex whispered, eyes closed.

"Home, Alex." 

Alex shook his head, moving his hand up to press on Michael's chest: "You're my home."

Michael made a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a purr. "Yes, but you also deserve a place where you feel safe and secure for your roots."

"It's not like I have a ton of money to work with."

Michael shook his head: "It doesn't have to be expensive. Paint is cheap. We can scour Craigslist. And lots of your friends would love to help you. It'll take time, but we can get it done," he pressed the palm of his scarred hand to the back of Alex's, "If you want it to."

Alex hummed, trying to keep his voice light: "I don't really care about interior decorating."

Michael huffed: "What, it's too girlie for you?"

"Michael --"

"No, I think that's what it is. I've lived in a lot more homes than you have, even if I've never left the country. How a home is put together changes how the people in it are able to interact. You tell yourself you can't have friends over because you don't have anyplace for them to sit. Because you don't have any people over, you can't ask for help, or find ways to help your friends in return. Dinner parties are where you could arrange internships for the kids in your classes, figure out new places you could use your skills after you retire. The spare bedrooms are places you could rent to them for really low rent, to keep them from having to live out of their trucks when they age out or get kicked out. We can put in a separate entrance, do whatever you want."

Alex frowned, thinking about it: "I guess I'd never really thought of this space as something I could use."

He felt Michael nod, fingers tangling warmly: "Yeah, I figured. But you've got eleven weeks and one day and we can make this what you need."

Alex's chest clenched, felt like something was squeezing around his heart: "It should be what you need too,"

Michael made a dismissive noise, his hair tickling Alex's forehead. Alex couldn't -- Michael was always trying to carve Alex a space in the world and always seemed to assume he could be discarded at any minute; because he had been. By Alex. By people he should have been able to trust.

Alex slung his leg over Michael's and Michael rolled willingly over onto his back, steading Alex's hips as he settled his weight down, Michael's smiling eyes looking up into his. Alex brushed a curl away from his forehead: "I'm going to put you on the deed to the house."

For a moment there was a rush of such emotion across Michael's face, Alex had no idea what to do with it. 

Then his expression closed off: "Let's hold that off until after you're a civvie."

"Why? I'm not going to change my mind. I _want_ you here."

"I know you do," Michael said, his voice tight. "It's just --"

"It's just _what_?"

"It's been a week, Alex," he said, voice gentle and brittle, "And you've changed your mind about me before."

"I have _never_ changed my mind about you --"

"What do you enlisting the week after my hand got broken?"

Alex felt like he'd been kicked in the chest, pulling himself off Michael's hips and putting his back against the cool white wall, his arms going around his one good knee, eyes locked on Michael's scarred hand where it rested on his stomach.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Michael looked ashamed of himself, pulling himself to sit against the headboard to give Alex space, legs folded tailor-style. "Sorry, Alex, I shouldn't have --"

Alex wanted to look at him, but all he could see was --

"He took me by your truck," he pressed the back his hand over his mouth, hearing his voice crack, not seeing anything in the room, nothing in 2019 could find him where he was.

"What?" Michael said, voice small and distant.

Alex tried again, hearing the words as toneless and flat as he tried to be when he thought about that night: "My Dad. The next day, he beat me up, hauled me into the cab of his Ford, took me by your truck. It was late at night. You were sleeping in the back bed. You probably couldn't even hear us, what with the acetone for your hand. He rolled down the window, pulled his hunting rifle off the wrack, and aimed it at you. Without looking away from the sight, finger hovering over the trigger guard, he pulled out a folder with the enlistment papers, already filled out."

Alex's eyes were closed and he couldn't remember closing them, his voice breaking: "Michael, he _knew where you lived_. He knew where _Max_ and _Isobel_ lived."

"You thought he was going to kill us?" Michael's voice was so far off.

Alex huffed a laugh that was about as far from humor as Earth was from Antar: "He drove my Mom away, raised my brothers to be killers, beat me any time he could get away with it, and he'd smashed your hand to a pulp." He realized his forehead was pressed to his knee, shaking fingers digging bruises into his shin, but he couldn't pull his grip away. "I was terrified," he said, in a toneless voice, "And I was absolutely certain it would be my fault. When I signed, he pulled the gun back inside and drove me back here."

Michael's voice was slow: "I'd thought of that, trying to figure out why you left. But I knew you knew Sheriff Valenti. Figured you could go to him if your Dad had threatened you."

Alex's voice was rough: "Jim Valenti raised Kyle Valenti. Why in God's name would I think the Sheriff would care, knowing what I knew then? One less queer to worry about."

"I thought he left you the cabin?"

"Maybe he thought it was restitution. But I'm not particularly interested in restitution. I would rather have those 10 years back."

Michael bit his lip, holding out his hand, reaching for Alex's, before curling it into a fist and letting it fall into his lap.

"I didn't know," Michael said.

"Yeah," Alex said, irritably, blinking, trying to see his bedroom as it is and not as it was. It was too close so he looked at Michael instead.

There was a flash of hurt in Michael's eyes and Alex reached out, finally seeing him, his hand finding Michael's and uncurling it in his lap.

"I should have found a way to tell you. Then you could have protected yourself from him. But hiding was what I did. All I thought I could do. To keep you safe."

"Fight or flight is bitch," Michael said, an understanding in his voice Alex had never heard before.

"A stone cold bitch," Alex agreed.

Michael nodded, then after a few breaths, he cocked his head: "Not to shift the mood, but I did bring pancake mix."

Alex felt his stomach rumble. He'd had take-out for the night before, and it hadn't been quite enough. He held off though. He had to say this --

"I wish I'd stayed." He could see it -- they would have found jobs, gotten progressively less shitty apartments. But the looming evil of Jesse Manes shadowed every version he could think of, every possible future branching from that night, the thought of his face, of that finger just inside the trigger guard. There were shudders racing up and down Alex's spine and into his hands, only interrupted by Michael's hot fingers tight against his palm.

Then Michael was rolling forward over his knees, arms going around Alex, pulling him away from the wall just enough to hold him tight. Not keeping him from moving, but anchoring him _here_ and _now_.

His voice was fierce, driving through the pain and fear those memories spread muddy and obscuring across Alex's mind: "Didn't you say there are no time machines? We can make things better today, and even better tomorrow. We can fight for the future. That's what we have."

Alex nodded, his chest feeling tight. But slowly as the sun rising, with Michael's body shielding his, his hands gentle on his back, and the space between getting smaller with each shared breath, some of that spring-coil tightness unwound, leaving him feeling achy and pounded, but still here, still alive.

"How about this," Alex said, burying his face in Michael's curls, "How about _I_ make us pancakes and you tell me what this house would look like, in the future we are fighting for?"  


He felt Michael's smile against his cheek, felt his hands pull him that tiny amount tighter.

"Sounds good."

They uncoiled and Michael backed off the bed, giving Alex space to get his prosthetic in order.

"Hey," Michael started, peering into the closet, and Alex looked up at him, worried he'd missed something crucial. But it wasn't a look of accusation; more like teasing.

"Any chance my clothes are done? From Sunday?"

"Your --" Alex closed his eyes.  "They're probably -- still in the dryer?"

Michael frowned and then seemed to decide that ribbing Alex for his laundry skills was probably too much when they were both feeling a little rubbed-raw.

"I'll go check -- I'll see you in the kitchen?"  
  
Alex nodded, and Michael headed back out. The truth was, he'd wished he'd never started that load. It had been a long week, sleeping here in this place that smelled like his childhood. More than a few times, he'd wished he'd had one of Michael's shirts, something of his to keep beside him. He moved on the bed, hearing for the first time how its old springs creaked at the motion. He looked at the headboard that he'd painted black in high school with some improperly-sealed painted that had been flaking since about 30 seconds after he'd finished painting it. The mattress had a deep dent in the center that left his body feeling creaky when he slipped into it and didn't move out through the night. It was too low to be comfortable to get out of without his crutch and --

"It _is_ kind of horrible, isn't it." He said to himself. He looked around the room and then stood. He still couldn't see what might be better than what was there, but maybe, just maybe, Michael could.

\--

Alex threw the pancakes together competently -- water, mix, heat the pan until the water he dripped on it spat, a bit of butter to get it started, flip when the bubbles reach the edge, keep on a plate on an unlit burner to keep it hot -- and Michael ate it like he'd never tasted anything better. 

Michael had brought the butter and the syrup, orange juice and some better coffee. Once they had cleared-up and put everything away, Michael walked him through the house:

"So the books I got at the library about universal design, about accessibility, basically say to do what we're doing right now: walk the house, see what you would need to get where you need to go. We've got rails and a range of other stuff. If you decide you want the whole place wheelchair accessible so some of the guys from the base can visit, that's more than a weekend project, but it's doable."

Alex's head was spinning once they were done. The contractor he'd hired for the bathroom was a vet and had put everything in the bathroom he needed. But he hadn't thought about visitability or how much time he spent maneuvering around a house that didn't fit him anymore. Maybe it never had, at least since his Mom left.

Michael looked at him, eyes soft, as they circled back to the living room. They'd left the master bedroom door closed, but had done surveys of his brothers' empty bedrooms.

Michael's voice was quiet when he said: "We don't need to make a lot of changes all at once. I think we can get these rails in in a few hours. Then we'll get some food at Crashdown and call it day. Unless there's something else you want to try?"

"Maybe --" and Alex looked around the living room, seeing the walls he'd scrubbed blood off of, "Maybe we could paint this room?"

Michael grinned: "Definitely."

He pulled out his phone: it was 7:07am.

"Let's go to the Ace Hardware in town. They'll have the right paint and brushes and dropcloths. It's not like the others are going to be on-time anyway, and I think we can do it quickly. What colors were you thinking?'

Alex shrugged. He didn't have a sense of colors, but the idea of this room smelling like clean paint, not unforgotten memories, seemed like a good thing.

Michael seemed to be waiting for something, and so Alex said the first thing that came to mind: "Do they make golden-brown paint?"

Michael's eyes flared for a second, staring, before he took two steps and wrapped Alex up in a tight hug. His cheek rasped around Alex's as he murmured: "I appreciate the thought, but I don't think we're going to be able to match the paint to my eyes. Maybe a warm yellow?"

Alex had an idea and held-up a hand: "I've got a picture to show you."

He headed back to his room. He lowered himself to the floor, crawling under his bed, fingernails finding the same loose baseboard he'd pried up when he was 15 and terrified and stubborn and hurting. There, it was, a double-fist-sized hole in the drywall, big enough for an _American Idiot_ CD, a few crumpled articles about Don't Ask, Don't Tell, and -- there is was. He pulled it out, paper fragile with age.

When he crawled out from under the bed, Michael was sitting in the doorway, back against the frame, Stetson on and cocked, ankle braced against his knee, looking over with curious eyes.

Alex crawled over to him, Michael holding out his arm for Alex to tuck himself under, hand dangling loose and warm against his upper arm. Michael's eyes were on envelope in his hands. Its white paper was long-since yellow from age, the logo of a long-since dead photo development company on it. Alex untucked the tongue of it and slid out a thick stack of photos. 

Michael's breath hitched at the first one -- him and Alex, young and laughing and perfect, guitars in their hands and the same smile on their faces.

"I didn't know you'd kept a copy," he murmured and Alex nodded. He flipped through the photos. 

They were all from different years, different sizes, colors, print qualities. Some of his Mom, some of his brothers as little kids, some of planes at the airfield or buildings on the rez.

He pulled out one photo, fingers delicate on the thin edge. It was of the tool shed, the lights on in the dusk of the night, the sun setting golden-red behind it.

"I heard you playing music -- everyone was gone for a camping trip and they'd left me here, and you'd seen them head out, and started to play. I just sat there in the dirt, leaning back against the house, and let you sing the sun down behind the mountains."

Michael's finger traced over the shape of the shed's window. He wasn't visible from the angle Alex had taken the photo, but his eyes said he remembered that night. His finger hovered over one warm yellow square in the window, filled with the golden light from inside, reflecting the last rays of the sun.

"Maybe that color?"

Alex nodded: "That's what I was thinking."

Michael turned, dropping a kiss into Alex's hair, his breath tickling against his ear.

"I'd never felt safer than when I was there. Never."

Alex turned in his arms, pressing his lips to Michael's, pulling back only to say: "Knowing you were safe, that night and for every night I was deployed, knowing you were away from people who wanted to hurt you, that was the future I was fighting for."

Michael's breath tripped and he kissed the corner of Alex's mouth, the other corner, up to his nose as Alex squirmed and then squarely on his lips again, drawing him in and over his lap until they were a warm tangle of limbs.

That's when the doorbell rang.

\--

It turned out that, in addition to becoming a surgeon and ending his reign as Roswell's leading football homophobe, Kyle Valenti had also become an early bird. It was 7:30am and there he was, standing on Alex's porch, bright and chipper. Alex wanted to knock him off the steps with his cane; then he remembered he hadn't had his coffee.

In the end, Michael and Alex left Kyle with the keys and strict instructions to unload Michael's truck but not get started until they got back.

The Ace Hardware had a few shades of yellow, each carefully compared with the photo and Michael confirming how they would dry. They bought what Alex thought were altogether too many drop clothes, but Michael insisted. They got back to find all of their friends sitting, drinking the coffees Maria had brought, laughing on the porch. She handed one each to them as they wandered over to join them, asking about the new path out back. Michael flushed and Alex smiled, moving the subject on to the day's work.

The day went by fast, walls being prepped and painted. The extra drop-cloths proved vital when Liz tagged Max in the back with a splash of paint and he roared around the house, paint-flecked steps pounding against the protected floor as Kyle and Michael tried to shout him into stillness.

Alex painted, measured, let himself and his grip be measured, laughed at Max and Liz and saw the house come alive. It was better than he could have imagined.

By sunset that night, the living room was a light golden yellow, with a darker yellow in the kitchen, and rails and grips in all the right places. Michael headed out with Max, leaving with a kiss and a promise to see Alex for dinner the next night.

Alone in the place he'd stopped calling home about the time he'd known he was queer, Alex wandered the rooms, not trying the lock to the master bedroom. He walked the hallways, hands testing and trying the rails. They were bolted to the studs, as steady as the floor under his feet, still warm from the sun and the hands of the friends who'd secured them.

He pulled out his phone and turned on his music. He tried out different kinds of music -- music he'd loved when he was a teen, music he'd heard on the radio, letting the sounds fill the space, echo against the newly-laid paint.

When his eyes began to droop, he went into the hall closet and pulled out his camping gear, a thick sleeping pad. He dragged his pillow off his bed, and realized Michael had left his flannel on the bed, probably when he stripped-off mid-afternoon when the sun was the hottest. He set-up a nest in the middle of the living room floor, the flannel tucked around his pillow, and Michael's smell joining him in the sheets.

With the curtains open and the lights off, he could see the Milky Way through the window and the light of the moon seemed to slip through the panes and fill-in the spaces between the paint molecules, making the room glow the way Michael's face had the first time they'd kissed. When Alex closed his eyes, just for a moment, he could finally see it: he could see the life they would build in this house.


	8. Ten Weeks and 18 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Alex has a panic attack because Jesse Manes Remains a War Crime. But the work Michael and he have been doing pays off.

Alex awoke alone and stiff in the middle of the living room floor. He stretched out his whole body, far longer and wider than his twin bed could contain, the sunlight bouncing around the room through the open windows, echoing the colors of the newly painted walls. He felt freer than he had in years, maybe ever, in this house.

He remembered in a moment camping with his Mom in the low hills, driving from midnight to the early morning, just the two of them.

As an adult, he thought perhaps she was trying to get a break from the rages of this house, trying to preserve a few more days of his childhood. He'd been six when they'd first driven up and laid out on the uneven ground of Bureau of Land Management land in their $35 tent and shared a queen sleeping bag, his head pillowed on her chest, trying to match his smaller lungs' rhythm with hers.

The thin walls of a tent had always felt safer than the thick southwestern faux-dobe of the place he'd been supposed to call home. Maybe because his Mom was in there with him, maybe because he was far from the noises of his brothers and father. Maybe it was just the sound of the wind, lonely and impossible to stop for long, winding through the hills and the low sage. Those nights were one of the reasons he spent so much time over the wire. Most people in the 1a8x2 career field spent all of their time on bases or in the air, but he'd never minded hopping in a jeep and going to the places aircraft were but  _weren't supposed to be_. There was a lot of tent-living in those situations and he'd loved it, at least when they weren't being shot at.

He glanced over at his phone; 12% battery. He clambered up, navigating to the charger in the kitchen with the new rails. An email notification popped-up when he plugged it in, going to his nearly-never-used personal account.

It was from his father, the subject: "Coming in Wednesday, have my things packed and on the porch (EOM)"

The text was empty, which is about what Alex felt reading it.

Everything narrowed to a rifle scope. He was watching his body fall into a panic attack, feeling his heart kick against his chest, his wrists tingle and his hands begin to shake. His sense of gravity -- of center -- was all entirely off balance and he sank on the stool he kept by the microwave before his legs could collapse. He didn't know what to do, how to --

He stood, yanking his phone from the charger and throwing it on airplane mode. He got his prosthetic on, dragged Michael's shirt over his shoulder, and shoved his way out the front door. He could see better out here, with the wider horizon, but it wasn't what he  _needed_. He thought about driving to Michael but there was no way he was going to bring this version of himself into his love's life this morning. He turned away from the road and began to follow the path Michael had laid for them, back, back out to the hot spring.

The sun was rising behind him, the light's angle nearly perfectly flat against the surface of the desert, throwing sparks up from the cracked stones Michael had bordered the path with, making the waterfall sparkle even a half-mile gone from it. Alex fixed his dimming sight on the standing fire of that water fall and began to walk.

It was nothing like the smooth, easy gait he'd had when Michael was beside him. No matter how long he walked, he couldn't convince himself the path would stay quiet and soft beneath his feet. His phone swung in his PJ's pocket, a reminder of the email and a promise that, if he really needed to, he could call Michael.

But he wanted to handle this alone, at least until he knew what he was going to do, how he was going to handle this constant shadow in his life.

The path Michael had broken forced him to take a longer route than if he'd just charged across the broken ground, coaxed him into setting a swinging pace that stretched some of the night stiffness from his muscles. Reaching the toolshed, he was suddenly able to feel the cool morning air in his lungs again. About halfway between the house and the hot spring, he felt sensation in his wrists again, moving a bit into his palms, but his fingers were still as stiff and numb as if his elbows had been tapped with a hammer. Not smashed, not like --

His vision was nearly gone by the time he reached the water, fumbling off his prosthetic and heaping it with his PJs and Michael's shirt, pulling himself hip deep into the hot, swirling water. The shock of the temperature change, the feeling of being surrounded by a place made by someone who loved him, ate away at the panic gripping him. He got to one of the large boulders whose flat tops peaked-up above the water and pulled himself onto it, legs dangling into the water but chest free of it. He took a breath, the steamy air racing through his lungs, bringing a song of quiet into his overwhelmed veins. He was surrounded by water, protected from sight of the road. He could see every approach, no one could get him without him seeing them first, hear them first over the crunchy ground and open water. He repeated that to himself: no one could get him without him seeing them first.

It wasn't quite enough. The sound of the water might cover someone's approach, if they were stealthy, if they had survival training --

He slipped back into the water, swimming with strong, sure strokes behind the waterfall, to the cave Michael had made him. He pulled himself up, the space being empty of coyotes, and sat, the curved, impenetrable wall at his back. He felt the vise around his chest and thighs ease. He took a breath and felt the oxygen finally reach his heart. Another. Another. He could feel his fingers and, finally, his fingertips. His eyes were pricking, a headache following his drop in blood pressure, but so, so much better than not being able to  _fucking see._

He took another breath, working his hands across the carved-out stone. It was just rough enough to give a grip, but his fingertips hit a slick spot. Idly, trying to keep breathing, he followed the shape of it, the smoothness circling and coiling and -- he snapped his eyes to where his fingers were tracing the ground beside him. He looked behind him. He lay flat back, the morning dawn driving through the waterfall's variable curtain. He tipped his head all the way back.

He started to laugh.

Everywhere around him, on land Jesse Manes still probably considered his in his rotted-out heart-of-hearts, were alien symbols, maps, words and work in a language Alex couldn't speak but Michael surely could. They were carved red and rich into the very stone. Alex wondered if they continued under the water line, if the entire lexicography of Michael's people was glimmering beneath the roiling waters of his hot spring out in the middle of the New Mexico desert. He had no idea if Michael had done it on purpose, if he'd just burst out with it while he was moving mountains to make Alex a safe place in a heart of unsafe land, if he even knew it was all here, all laid out for him. Like a dictionary. Like a map. Like a heart.

But now he knew, as clearly as if he'd been given a mission briefing: Michael loved him. And there was no way Jesse Manes was coming onto this land.

\--

When the sun was high enough to start heating the air and Alex could see with his full field of view, he swam back to where he'd left his clothes. He pulled his PJs on, figuring the dry desert air with probably dry them both by the time he got back to the house. He pulled his phone out: 8%.

He flipped it off airplane mode and deleted his email app before it could update on the thin-spread LTE. Then he opened the text app and typed "M:" 

> Jesse Manes
> 
> Flint Manes // Old, Wrong Number
> 
> Maria DeLuca
> 
> Max Evans
> 
> Michael Guerin
> 
> Mimi DeLuca

He blinked once, hard, forcing his eyes to skip over the first two. Then he saw Max's name and had a thought:

_Max -- thank you for yesterday. It meant a lot. I have something different I need help with. A bit closer to your day job than home improvement._

The reply came immediately:

_Is Michael ok?_

Alex took a breath, relief moving through him. Max's hands-off approach to Michael's life had been something he'd never really understood. He knew his own reasons for walking away from him but couldn't guess at Max's. He wished Michael had more people who would love and fight for him. That Max was paying this close attention meant that, maybe, he would have that soon.

 _He was the last time I saw him, last night._ He sent immediately.

_We're having dinner tonight._

_It's actually about me. About my father._

The three dots appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared, a dozen times before they stopped altogether. Either Max was driving or struggling to find words or waiting for Alex to fill in the blanks.

Alex tried:  _He said he's going to be back in town on Wednesday. Wants his stuff he stored in the master bedroom. I wanted to see if I could leave it at the police station, have him pick it up there? I don't want him near the house if I can avoid it._

The reply was quick --  _Agreed. If he can't get into the house, it'll keep him away from Michael, from, everything._

Alex didn't know how much, if anything, Michael had told them about Jesse Manes. But maybe Jim Valenti had given something like an off-the-record briefer of the cases he'd never been able to close to his new deputy. Maybe this was part of Jim's restitution.

 _Thanks -- I'll ask if Michael can help me pack it up_.

The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

_I'll do it._

A pause, the dots staying up as Max wrote a novel:

_If it's ok. I don't want to invade your space, but I can't imagine either of you need or want to be around his shit. I can get the spare from Michael -- he stayed over in Isobel's room last night but I wasn't sure if he'd snuck out -- he's so squirrelly sometimes. If you're away from the house for the afternoon, I can probably get it done, pack them up, get out of your way before you get back._

Alex felt like he'd jumped into the water again, warm relief running up and down his back; the thought of not touching his father's stuff, not having to smell the inside smells of that room --

_That would be very kind. I really appreciate it._

Then he remembered:

_He locked it. He locked the master bedroom before he left. Said he was coming back._

There was a pause, the dots appearing and disappearing, then Alex felt a smile tug at his lips:

_If you'll forgive me, your father is a twisted asshole. And I saw the lock last night. I've got bolt cutters like you wouldn't believe. if you don't mind me destroying the door -- I'm sure Michael can find a replacement -- then there's no problem for me._

Alex laughed a little, it sounding wet to him, but then, he was all alone out here.

 _That's fine. If I could just burn that room, I would. But it's all attached_.

Max replied after a second:  _Yeah. Is noon ok?_

Alex closed his eyes, thinking.

_Perfect. Actually, I'm going to see if Michael's up for breakfast, so if so, I'll be out of here in about an hour._

Max used the first emoji Alex had ever seen from him:  _If you can get him up before 10am, more power to you 😎_.

The emoji-barrier broken, Alex sent him: 😆😆😆 and switched over to text Michael.

\--

Michael was, it turns out, happy to wake up as long as he didn't have to put on a shirt or open his eyes past half-mast. Alex brought the pancake mix and made then a nice stack of flapjacks on Max's stove. Aside from a hug good morning, they hadn't talked much and didn't really until both of them were well-caffeinated and sitting over Max's reclaimed-wood dining room table, shoulders bumping as they sat beside each other.

Michael started: "Max headed out early. Everything ok?"

Alex looked at his hands where they were tracing the fine grains of the wood: "You know I sent my Dad to Niger to get him away from you, from this?"

Michael's face froze and Alex could nearly see him yearning for his black Stetson to hide behind. He nodded.

"He emailed me, the day I came to the Airstream, that he was coming back to pick-up his stuff. I think he's being relocated to the East Coast, away from Project Shepherd, since it's not a real project anymore. I wiped you all from the databases and the rest of his stuff can be mothballed. Honestly, you all can take it and I'll sign-off that it's in some empty storage unit on the base." He shook his head. "Anyway, that's not what Max left about." Michael's eyes were fixed on his face and he couldn't meet them, not and think about this: "He left stuff at the house, left a bunch of his stuff in the master bedroom and locked the door. I don't know what it is. It isn't Project Shepherd stuff, it isn't my stuff, I don't even know how much of it there was. But he was keeping it there --"

"To keep control. Over you. If his stuff was there, then he could come in any time and have a reason," Michael completed the thought, disgust clear in his voice.

Alex nodded, hand going up to cover his mouth. "I just wish he'd go away and forget I ever existed. He'd be happy enough with three war hero sons. If he could forget Project Shepherd and forget me, he'd be out of my life for good. No more shadow."

He felt Michael lean against his shoulder and he shifted his weight to take the weight and give some of his own back so the point supporting them hovered somewhere in the air between them. Leaning together, stable and strong.

His voice was quiet: "Max said he'd go and pack it up, keep it at the station. I just need to write him and tell him to pick it up there."

He felt Michael move against him, a breath, a tension. He opened his eyes and saw such conflict on his face he leaned in, pressing his lips to his scruffy cheek.

"What is it?" he asked.

Michael leaned into him more, letting his head rest on his shoulder.

"You know how people think Isobel is missing --"

Alex sat-up a little but then stilled, leaning back against him. "That's what  _I_ thought --"

Michael hummed: "It's a bit more, alien, than that."

He explained and Alex tried to keep steady as the non-linear secrets came spilling out. It was -- a lot. The girls, Rosa, Isobel, Liz, pods, needles -- all a lot. But what he heard through it all, what came through clearer than any one detail in the rushed flow, was that Michael was trying to propose a solution. To both of their shared problems.

When he wound down, Alex tried to summarize: "So if we can get Isobel back from the pod, get her safe and stable, you and she and Max will have each other again and she just might be able to re-format my Dad's brain so he never became alien obsessed, and he only has three sons? And we have the two weeks he's likely to be on base for leave?"

"I don't know if she can -- she can only really make people do what they want to do anyway. So if we can find a way that he wants to put Project Shepherd and you in his rearview, we're clear. 

"So not a sure thing. But hope," Alex leaned forward, forehead pressed to his. "How can I help?"

"We need to talk to Liz Ortecho."

\--

Sunday morning breakfast at Crashdown was busy and crowded and a special kind of wonderful to walk into it holding Michael's hand. The folks who had stared the week before still stared, but glanced away faster. They waited for the rush to die down a little and Liz to be able to sit with them.

"I've been working every spare moment I have, but with everything, I haven't had as much time as I needed. If I could pull fewer shifts here, then I could run more experiments on the weekend."

Alex felt something click, a problem he'd been trying to think of a solution to. "If I could find someone to cover some shifts for you, you can pay fairly?"

Liz nodded, eyes lighting up: "I just haven't had time to recruit and hire and do all of that. But it's enough to cover rent on an apartment in town and gas. Hard to live on alone --"

"The kids I'm thinking about -- he's got some developmental stuff, but he speaks Spanish and English, he's big enough the drunker customers won't want to hassle him, and he has a place to stay, just needs to save-up money for a few months for first-and-last on an apartment with his brother."

"Jesus?" Michael asked in a low voice and Alex nodded.

Liz's smile was bright, eyes relieved: "If you've got someone in mind, have them come by tomorrow and we'll do a week's training with pay."

Alex felt the first real smile he'd had of the day push its way onto his face. "I'll see if he's interested at class today. There's a few others, a bit younger, but what I'm saying is, I think I can help."

Liz nodded and headed off to handle a crowd of tourists who'd wandered in, funny hats in clear evidence.

Michael leaned in a little, voice low: "Does Jesus have a car?"

Alex shook his head: "But if it's weekend shifts, I can give him a ride here," he took a breath, "I wouldn't mind spending more time on the rez. And who knows, maybe having a uniformed airman showing-up to pick-up his son will get his Dad to decide it's not worth it taking his bullshit out on his sons."

Something twisted in Michael's eyes, and he looked away, breathing carefully. "If there's weekday shifts, I can see if I can help out with rides until he has enough to get his own car. My hours at the junkyard can be a little more flexible if my boss knows why. He's got a soft spot for tough luck cases."

Alex pressed a kiss into his cheek and Michael turned, connecting sweetly and just for a moment before pulling away.

"So, dinner tonight?"

Alex nodded. He'd figured Michael wouldn't want to come to class again but he'd hoped they could have more time together before the weekend was over.

Then Michael got a sneaky look on his face -- "I had an idea. We could do a picnic out by the hot spring? Sandwiches and beer and swimming?"

Alex smirked: "Michael Guerin, are you trying to get me into swim trunks again?"

His voice was a low mutter under the sound of the diner when he said: "Who said anything about swim trunks?"

Alex felt his cheeks heat, the rush leaving him pleasantly dizzy as Michael pulled out a bill for his portion of the check. Alex tossed the same on the table and they walked back to where they'd parked their trucks, hand-in-hand.

\--

Jesus was in fact interested -- read: hand-flappingly-over-joyed -- by the potential job and he actually had an aunt who came into Roswell on the weekends, so Alex and Michael were back-up rides if he needed them. They went over bystander intervention that day and group fighting, finishing with some extremely competitive jump-rope games that Alex and Clara both sat out and roundly critiqued under their breaths.

Once the students were back on the bus, Alex braced his back against the wall of the workout room, the sound of the gym filling the space in his head he might have reserved for panic. He reinstalled the email app and replied:

"It's all at the Sheriff's station. Call Sheriff Valenti to schedule a time to pick it up. You are not welcome at the house and if I see you there, there will be a problem between us."

He hit send and then walked back to his car, his arms shaking, his hands tingling, but the sound of Jesus's cheer's and Clara's laugh and the feeling of Michael braced against his shoulder kept his vision clear all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm writing Jesus as autistic, since my brother is, though I'm writing Jesus more like one of my besties who is autistic (technically PDDNOS, but that's just an acronym used to avoid giving him services), with more of the physical mannerisms. I'm not autistic, so if I get things wrong, please let me know.
> 
> I realized re-reading the first chapter that I had a few loose ends I wanted to tie up, but don't worry, we'll be getting back to the dating and cute house-building soon. I just don't want to leave Jesse Manes hanging over them like a shadow.


	9. Ten Weeks and 9 hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're earning a bit more of our rating in this chapter. They're not breaking Rule 1, but it's, going to be a bit of struggle. But they're creative, resourceful men. They'll figure something out.

Alex realized after he got to the house that he wasn't really contributing anything to the picnic. He checked his phone and saw it was only had about 20 minutes before Michael was supposed to arrive. A frisson of worry worked across his shoulders --  _what if Michael thought he was phoning it in, or too fucked up from the morning's excitement to be present, or --_

He pulled out his phone and texted Michael and typed the first normal-sounding thing he could think of:  _I want to see what I should get for the picnic._

Right away, he got the text:  _Oh, thank god._

_I'm running like 30 minutes late, a customer came in willing to pay double if I fixed her breaks ~today~ and you know, that's worth it._

_Umm, if you get the cheese and crackers and fancy shit, I'll bring the sandwiches. I have the fixin's in the fridge here with the beer, just not the snack portion_

Alex felt his cheeks heat, sitting alone in his truck, something swelling in his chest --  _I made it home before I thought to ask, so I can get to the store and back in, say, 35 mins?_

 _Perfect_.  _ilu_

Came the text and Alex put his hand over his eyes, feeling his cheek stretch into an impossible grin.

 _ilu too_ he typed, and then felt entirely too juvenile. He deleted it: " _I love you too, Michael."_

 _Dawwwww_ came the reply.

Alex laughed and took himself to the grocery store, getting some baguettes and cheese and wine.

\--

Alex was sitting on the porch with his groceries beside, swim trunks tucked into a bag with towels, but when he saw Michael's truck make the turn from the highway, he pushed himself up and off it, easing his weight between his prosthetic and his whole leg, feeling a smile spread across his lips.

Michael was mouthing  _sorry, sorry, sorry_ as he pulled the car into park and threw himself out of the cab, wrapping Alex up in a hug as he repeated "sorry, sorry, sorry," into his ear. Alex felt all the tension of the day melt into Michael's body, dragging his mouth to his in a kiss with a lot more heat than he'd intended. Michael made a warm sound and pressed a hand to his lower back, hips coming into shocking contact as Alex's heart began slamming blood into his veins as fast as oxygen could reach it.

Michael stepped into him and Alex gave ground, step after step until he was pressed, smooth and tight against the side of the porch. Alex hitched his left leg up and over Michael's hip, hooking him in tight with his metal ankle, making space for him that Michael filled like a liquid as Alex held onto his shoulders for balance. Michael for his part couldn't seem to decide which part of Alex he wanted to touch more -- first holding his face with delicate fingers, then gripping his waist tight enough Alex felt his breath push against him, then dragging up and down what of his back he could reach, fingers tugging Alex's shirt up until  _there_ , perfect contact, perfect fingers on his skin, perfect because they were Michael's, because they were  _touching him_. Michael surged against him, the friction impossible to miss, the sound it drove from Alex's throat impossible to stop. 

Alex's hands started to work Michael's over shirt off, with no plan but needing to touch more of him when he remembered and pulled away: "Rule 1," he gasped as Michael used the opportunity to press his open mouth to Alex's throat, tasting the salt-sweet of his sun-warmed skin and Alex looked to the sky, trying to remember what Rule 1 had been. There was a little white cloud right above them but it was mostly slowly dimming blue and gold. Gold. Gold like the living room, like the light in the shed, like Michael's eyes --

Alex put a hand in the middle of Michael's chest, fingers splayed and Michael shot back, hands still on Alex's shoulders to keep him from loosing balance but touching no where else as his eyes searched's Alex's, lust haze fading from them.

""Rule 1," Alex said again, voice slightly more under control.

Michael growled and it did something in Alex's stomach to hear it, to see naked want in his golden-brown eyes.

"If I said 'fuck the rules' --"

Alex grinned a little, cocking his head: "Yes, I think that would be the outcome," 

Michael swayed towards him and Alex said: "But you said them for a reason. I said them for a reason. We can -- " and he tried to get his brain to function on a higher than limbic level -- "We can do this. I trust us to do it."

Michael took a breath that looked like it hurt and slowly eased his hands off Alex's shoulders, making sure he was stable before letting go. He adjusted his jeans, forehead furrowed.

His voice was a quiet growl when he said: "It's going to be a tough 10 weeks and 9 hours."

Alex quirked an eyebrow: "You have a specific hour planned?"

Michael brushed his hands down his front, straightening his shirt where Alex's hands had yanked it askew. "I have everything planned."

Alex breath hitched, blinking rapidly, something growing in his chest. His voice came out low when he murmured: "Do you now?"

Michael's eyes lit-up a little, a crooked smile taking a decade off his face.

"Are you up for a game?"

Alex bit his lip, leaning forward into Michael's space: "What kind of game?"

"Chicken."

\--

Their arms were full of snacks and the food Michael had brought and towels and firewood on their walk to the hot spring as Michael explained. Alex was glad his hands were occupied, otherwise he wasn't sure he'd make it through the explanation of Michael's version of Chicken.

"So if we'd been dating for 10 years, we'd know all of these things about each other, right? Fantasies and no-goes, positions we've read about, dynamics, experiments -- the normal stuff of dating," he glanced over at Alex, who nodded. He hadn't done a lot of dating in the past 10 years, but he wasn't going to begrudge Michael. The thought of him alone and lonely had haunted him more than a few nights and knowing that wasn't the case was mostly a comfort. Like 90% comfort. 10% jealousy. _Maybe 18.5% jealousy._ He'd try not to quantify it, but he wasn't going to get on Michael's case about it no matter the percentage.

Michael seemed satisfied with his response and kept going

"The game is: we have the picnic and we talk. No touching because that's just going to escalate. Answer questions for each other that we might have learned in 10 years of dating. First one to not answer a question is the Chicken and --" he paused, thinking.

Alex filled in: "Jumps in the hot spring."

Michael grinned: "Sure. Better than doing shots, if we want to avoid breaking Rule 1."

Alex was glad the ruddy sunset hid his blush; his heart rate hadn't dropped below 100 bpm since Michael had held him against the porch and he doubted it was going to get there before they kissed goodnight.  He knew he was supposed to do more cardio but he didn't think this was what his PT had in mind.

 _Or maybe it was_. Dr Moran always seemed an open-minded lady.

"So just sex questions?"

Michael glanced over at him: "We can get into dark stuff if we need to, but yeah, I was thinking of keeping it light."

Alex rolled his shoulders a little. They were nearly to the hot springs and the bags he'd picked-up were starting to feel heavy.

"Works for me -- I just wanted to identify the mission parameters."

Michael choked out a laugh. "I think I know my first question then."

"Yeah?"

Michael's eyes were twinkling as he laid down his burden on the sandy ground, and began to lay-out the thick quilt he'd brought from his Airstream for them to set-up on. He directed his question to the questionably-stitched squares in the middle of it: "Did the uniforms do it for you?"

Alex huffed a laugh: "Not once you get to know the guys in them," he paused, sobering a little as he set-out the food he'd brought, "No, that's not fair. I know a lot of brave and kind and smart and stupid and evil and dumb and just human men and women and non-binary folks in uniform. And I guess there's something about the, tidiness of it, the structure. Knowing where you're supposed to be, knowing your place, how everyone is supposed to interact with each other. I found comfort in that, when it wasn't being used against me. The Air Force isn't all 'warheads in foreheads'," he said, carefully lining-up the beers Michael passed him so they made a little rectangle on the edge of the quilt. Michael was listening as he set-up a small campfire.

"So, maybe the structure it implies. But the first person to ever wear a uniform for me, to _be_ the uniform for me, was my Dad, so no, it's never been a turn-on."

Michael nodded. "Yeah, I could see that." He paused, looking at Alex, who was popping the top off a beer. "Ok, your turn."

Alex looked up, catching and holding Michael's glimmering eyes:

"Favorite position?"

Michael shrugged: "I'm a switch. It's to do with the person, it's not really a strong preference with me." He accepted the beer Alex passed him.

"You?"

Alex tipped his head over: "Same. I get different things out of them, sure, but I'd rather switch-off if it doesn't bother the other person."

Michael frowned: "Who would get bothered making sure you were comfortable -- "

Alex shrugged, eyes going to the bottle in his hands. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, Michael reaching for him only to keep himself back.

"Maybe," Alex said, voice quiet, "Maybe we can touch hands? Just hands, just below the wrist. This," he waved between them, "It would be nice to be able to comfort, if stuff comes up."

Michael nodded, crawling forward until he could wrap his hands around Alex's, and Alex felt the heat of him rise up his arms, folding around him until he met Michael's eyes with a smile.

"So much for keeping things light," he said and Michael stroked his thumb up the center of Alex's palm.

"Your turn," Michael said and Alex, grabbed a piece of cheese, snacking on it to buy time.

"Favorite place to be touched?"

Michael's eyes lit up: "My truck."

Alex's laugh echoed across the desert floor, mock-glaring at him until Michael relented.

"Aside from the obvious, probably my palms," he lifted one shoulder like he was shrugging the preference away and Alex gently shook his hands.

"That's good to know. Is the feeling the same in both of them?"

Michael shook his head, "It's a little duller in the left, but I can still feel stuff." He freed a hand to take a swig of his beer.

"That was two questions, so now I get two."

"That's fair."

"Ok -- " Michael started, then the light of mischief crept into his eyes.  _Such a coyote_ , Alex thought. He took a bite of his sandwich steeling himself for the question.

"What would I never guess that you like, and what is something you're secretly hoping I will want?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC!
> 
> A shorter chapter tonight since I have to get my sister-in-law for writing group, but this scene isn't over yet? They've def got more stuff to discuss. Someone has to be the Chicken.


	10. Ten Weeks and 8 hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of smut-that-is-not-smut and then so many feelings. I have so many feelings everyone. So. Many.

"What would I never guess that you like, and what is something you're secretly hoping I will want?"

Alex closed his eyes, feeling the sun-warmed ground through the quilt, the soft smell of the water behind them fill the air, the gentle touch of the desert breeze move across his skin. The slice of things Alex knew that only he knew about himself was thin and thinner the more time they spent together. He looked into Michael's eyes, felt the tight grip of his fingers, and dove in:

"Something you'd never guess I'd like -- doing stuff where we might get caught, probably," he glanced to the rippling surface of the hot spring, voice low, mixing with the sound of the waterfall, "I used to go to sleep in the barracks thinking about what if you'd been in the booth with me at the museum, just hanging-out. Well, mostly just hanging out. It depends on the night," he was glad the rising dusk hid the rising blush in his cheeks. "Sometimes I'd just think about you sitting next to me on the floor, back against my legs, working on homework, your hands tracing up and down my legs -- when I had two -- touching me like you just couldn't help it. And I could have my hand on your head, in your hair, just, playing with it, knowing my touch was wanted and welcome. And I know that wouldn't necessarily work now, but back then, it might have. And you have such beautiful hair. And sometimes, when I was on break, I could climb down there and we could get some hands on each other. It wasn't just there -- there were all sorts of places in that museum -- attics and basements and closets and, it could have been such a summer, Michael."

Michael's smile was somehow soft and wicked at the same time: "That would have been amazing."

"And for something I'm secretly hoping you'll want -- I guess I'm hoping you'd be interested in some power exchange stuff," and then he immediately started to backtrack, "At some point, if it's not upsetting, because I don't want to start anything that might not work for both of us," and Michael's steady look, he paused and took a breath. "In the Airstream, when you held my hands above my head, or my wrists were tangled in my shirt, it was; it was nice. It was good. Kind of like the uniform is nice, a kind of reminder that there's a place where I don't have to do a lot of thinking, a lot of planning."

He risked looking at Michael's face and there was an expression there, one he'd seen before, but never really gotten to see this close. It was protectiveness and affection and heat and _want_ , all mixed together. "I think that is something we can do," he said, the tension in his arms moving down to his hands, before he softened them again.

"Is that something you would be interested in?" Alex asked and Michael nodded, once, hard, voice coming out strained:

"Yes. When we get there, God, yes, Alex."

"And what would that look like, for you?" Alex asked.

Michael took a harsh breath, a shake moving its way across his body before he broke his grip on Alex's hand, leaning back to get a sandwich of his own. After a few bites he said:

"I'd be -- I'd be a switch in this kind of situation too. But if we were playing a game, where I was in charge," he flattened his hands on his thighs, rubbing down the tight denim, curling them around his knees, keeping them to himself. "You're in your room, and you're waiting for me. You're -- " his eyes closed for a brief moment, like he was describing something he'd already worked out, worked over, until it was rubbed smooth and indelible: "You're comfortable, sitting on a nice big bed, with really soft turquoise and grey blankets, and you're -- you're wearing the blindfold from last week. And your hands aren't tied or anything, but you're gripping the white wrought iron headboard, as hard as you can, because the rules of that game are that I get to touch you and you have to wait until you come to touch me, and you're," he rubbed his hand across his face, "You're so happy and calm and there, and you're moving under me, and you're just  _glowing_ with it, Alex. You're not scared or worried or hurt or being brave, you're warm and comfortable and keening and secure and there and  _mine_."

He took a breath, taking a long swig of his beer, voice quiet: "That's what it would look like, for me."

Alex was having trouble thinking with the tiny amount of blood his body was currently seeing fit to allocate to his brain. His hands, his lips, his legs, his dick, everything was ordering him to climb over to Michael and get started on that,  _right now_. He gripped the neck of his beer instead, trying to make himself say something relevant.

"That," and his voice cracked. He tried again, voice unsteady: "That's sound incredible, Michael."

He took a breath: "I think it's your turn for a question," Alex said, reaching over for another bite of his sandwich, trying to subtly adjust himself.

Michael's eyes were bright, smile crooked: "What would a truly excellent blow job be like?"

Alex felt a shudder work its way up his body, sending flashes and tingles across his skin. He looked longingly at the hot spring, but his competitive self refused to give in so early. Michael was looking a bit worse for wear, lips red, pupils blown, hands still gripping his knees to keep from starting something they at this point would not be able to stop.

Alex lay back on the quilt, pillowing his head on his hands while gripping them palm to palm. He saw Michael's eyes follow his body as it moved and stretched out, long and strong, something hungry in his eyes as his chest rose and fell. Alex broke his gaze and looked up at the sky, seeing the Milky Way hovering so far away it made him feel massive and tiny to think about it, there and so close he could touch it.

He started to speak as the fantasy forms between him and the stars: "This is one I used to save, to only think of when I really, really needed it. We're laying out under the stars, and it's a warm summer night, those rare ones in the middle of summer when the desert stays warm through to the dawn. You're in your jeans and black button-up, telling me about where you're from, how you'll know it when you get back there," and he heard Michael's breath catch but when he glanced over, he hadn't moved, eyes as rapt on Alex as Alex's were on the stars.

"And you're laying back, and I start running my hands over you. Just down your chest, fingers working in the space between the buttons, touching bits and pieces of you, enjoying the contrast between the fabric and your skin." Alex takes a breath, heart pounding, "And you're running your hand up and down my back, but mostly you're enjoying the feeling of touching. But I want more; I always want more from you, Michael." Alex blinked his eyes closed, before feeling Michael move closer and he held out his hand, fingertips meeting in the distance between them. He kept his eyes on the stars as he felt run his fingers along the sides of his fingers, over and around, then slipped his thumb across his palm, Alex hissing out a breath as shared air grew tighter around them.

"I move down your body, mouth following where my fingers have gone, and I can hear you, feel you breathing faster, your heart racing. I hear it and I know it's working for you. That I'm doing it for you. And when I get my hands under your shirt and our skin is touching, and it's so much, knowing that every bit of pressure and drag of fingertips you are feeling with me. And you've been working that day, and you smell so good, and I unzip your jeans, and you're helping, just getting them down over your hips, too rushed to get any further. And we're out in the desert and we're alone with just us and the stars, but someone might drive by and we can't get too naked, so I keep my clothes on, covering you, my hands around you, then my mouth," Michael's grip was near-painfully tight and Alex thought it might be the only thing keeping him from flying apart at the seams. He felt Michael's fingers slide to his wrist, gently pressing; he realized he was taking his pulse and somehow, that idea, that Michael knew what was happening inside him, could feel what his heart was doing, could tell from that one touch how he blood and body were interacting was nearly enough to send him to the hot springs. But he wasn't done yet.

"I have my mouth around you, and you're being careful with me, not wanting to push, but I  _want_ you to push me, love, in that moment, in that place. So I grab one of your hands and I put it on the back of my head. And it's not that I don't have the power, right, because you're flat on the desert sand and I'm over you, but it's -- you touching me, gripping me close, it's a constant reminder that you're there, love, and I'm there and we're there together. And it's that comfort, knowing that you're holding me close to you and letting me have you inside me, powerful and vulnerable and  _there_. And I'm using my hand because as long as we'd want to go, my lips would get super tired, so I've got my hand on your and the other is working across your balls and you're moving around me. And I don't know what sounds you'd make because I don't know what sound's you make, but God, love, I want to. I want to."

"And that's when you gasp out something like, 'I'm about to--' and I surge up your body to kiss the words out of your mouth, covering you entirely and working you between our bodies, tight and hot and I get to feel you begin to stutter under me, rocking up against me, your entire body moving and I get to  _feel_ it with you, feel you move between us, messy and wet between us, and I'm holding onto you. I'm holding onto you and you're letting me and I'm not letting go and nothing is going to keep us apart. Then you need a bit of breathing room, so I'm beside you again, leg over your thighs, hands tracing up and down your chest as you work your way to the end of it. And then we tuck you back away and go back to looking up into the stars together."

Alex turned his head over to see Michael's eyes wide, almost panicked looking. Alex moved to sit-up, concerned when Michael held up a hand. "If I didn't have more questions, I would be in that spring so fucking fast, Alex. You have no fucking idea what you're doing to me."

Alex glanced down his body to the clear evidence of what that little bit of sharing had done to  _him_ and cocked an eyebrow at Michael. But Michael was reaching for a water, spinning the cap off with his mind to avoid letting go of Alex's hand, taking about a third of the bottle in a single gulp. He passed it over to Alex, who sat up to drink it.

Their breathing was slowly coming down, Alex's heart quieting enough he could hear Michael's whispered: " _Jesus,_ " as he ran his hand over the back of his neck, looking up at Alex with the same boyish expression he remembered from the museum that he could barely hold himself back from kissing it right off of his face.

"Your turn," Michael said, and Alex tipped his head back with a groan. 

"Alright. If what happened hadn't happened, what do you think we would have done that day, in the toolshed?"

Michael slipped his hand back and Alex felt the cold immediately, but then Michael was laying beside him, a solid half-foot of distance between them, but more than enough space for him to reach across and press their palms together.

He answered without looking away, eyes holding Alex's like the gravity that never seemed to touch him the same as anyone else Alex had ever met: "I think we would have gotten some snacks. Gone out to Crashdown, giggling and silly with it, trying to be subtle and failing so, so badly," his smile was a little sad, but more than that, it was full of something -- something like love. Not for right now, though that was there too, but for the boys they'd been. The lives left behind, interrupted and torn up and broken, but somehow still drawn together. In Michael's eyes, those boys they'd been were still there, laughing and sweet in the quiet of the toolshed. Here too, surrounding them like protective walls that nothing could break down.

"I think we would have gone back, long after lights out, parking out in a field and walking in, hands in each other's back pockets or under each other's shirts. We would have gotten condoms in town and some shitty lube, since we had no idea how anything worked." He ran his left hand down his chest, anchoring his hand in his jeans pocket, body singing with tension. "And I think we would have played. I think we would have kissed and touched, messed-up and realized how very much lube is important and laughed about it in the end. I think we would have been full of starlight that night, Alex. And in the morning, we would have done it again, hands and mouths, bodies moving, bodies comforted, scars and bruises and love marks counted and adored. And we would have built on it. Not just the sex, but the friendship, the closeness."

He closed his eyes. "We could have late-enrolled at the community college. I would have deferred UNM so you and me and Isobel could go together. She would have stayed living at the Evans' and you and me would have hidden our relationship and worked so hard through the summer so that you could move out, we could get the Airstream _together_. Once you all had your AAs, we would have all transferred to UNM and lived in the dorms. Isobel would have gotten her degree and you would have gotten yours and me mine," Alex saw his smile had moved to something bright and wistful.

"I think she would have liked political science and government, using all those battle femme skills to protect women without them; you would have done music and math, since you're so good at both. And me -- " he paused here, voice getting quieter, "I would have done aerospace engineering. A summer internship at JPL and then an early version of SpaceX while you spent your summer doing gigs and trying to get an agent in LA. Max would have written a bit of his novel and still joined the force, and kept working on it, and we would have stayed in Roswell most summers when we didn't have internships."

His eyes were tracing Alex's face, maybe seeing a version without scars, with more smile than frown lines and it was all Alex could do to hold his gaze: "And when we graduated, we would have enough saved up for a little place of our own, right back here. A little garden, a quiet two bedroom. Isobel and Max would have gotten their own apartment, co-dependents that they are. I would have started teaching at the community college during the day and building my ship at night. You'd be a music teacher in the school, so there would never again be kids in Roswell who didn't know you could live past 18 and be queer. Isobel would be mayor instead of that racist fuck who's up there now. And your family would just have to suck it up and live with it, living with you being happy and away from them. And you'd still be teaching the self-defense classes, but they would be based off of what you learned in the karate dojo you joined in college. And you would be so, so happy, and I," he clenched his jaw, finally breaking eye-contact. "And I would get to see you be that happy. Every damn day. For 10 years. A decade together, happy and free, love. That's what I think would have happened after the toolshed, if what happened there and after hadn't happened."

Alex could see it so clearly, overlaying every piece of violence, every moment of heartbreak, every piece of history written on both of their bodies, this other life laying over them, bracketing them like parentheses. It was too much, too perfect--

"I need to," he said, body rising, pressing Michael's palm to his mouth, kissing him once, firmly, before standing, hands pulling at his own clothes, stripping off his shirt and pants, his prosthetic, everything but his boxers as he waded into the water. It was encompassing and felt nearly cool on his feverish skin as he swam over to the rock in the middle of it, gripping it tightly and bracing his forehead on his forearms as he gasped, tried to breath through the emotions that Michael's vision had raised in him. He heard a splash in the water behind him and he felt Michael come up beside him, soft eyes worried as he hovered in the water, sure strokes keeping him afloat.

He reached out his hand blindly and Michael gripped it, pulling himself in to wrap a strong arm over his shoulders, sides pressing together. Michael was still wearing his jeans and Alex huffed a laugh.

"It's going to take like 3 dryer cycles to get your jeans dry," he muttered and he felt Michael press a kiss to his shoulder.

"Worth it," he said. "Even if I have to do the walk of shame in swim trunks. Worth it to not have to wait a second more to be here, to be with you. I wasn't trying to make you sad, I'm sorry."

Alex nodded, taking his forehead off his forearm: "I'm not upset, it's just -- I'd never let myself think all of that through." _Every step had seemed to be too impossible,_ "And you just had it all in your head. A whole plan. A whole other life."

Michael laughed, so quiet Alex almost missed it under the sound of the waterfall. "I didn't have all of that planned out back then; I don't know if I could have. I was running scared, barely had room to breathe for myself, much less anyone else. But I learned to plan, in the past 10 years. Watching how the world works and moves. But I --" and here he paused, voice going quiet, "I don't begrudge us panicking, right? You joining-up, me hiding. Like I said, fight or flight is a bitch. We didn't know any better how to protect ourselves, how to get help. People who should have protected us fucking didn't, Alex. Both of us. We can have a future because we survived and what we had to do to survive, I don't begrudge either of us any of it."

Alex turned, pushing his face into Michael's neck. "But I wish we'd had those lives. Those quieter, happier lives."

Michael's smile was clear in his voice: "I'm glad we get this one."

Alex look over and his stomach flipped with the soft look on Michael's face. He could feel the places their bodies were touching, and he was yearning in a way that felt very high school senior year. He glanced around for a distraction, looking up to the waterfall, remembering what he wanted to ask Michael.

"This morning, when I got that email, I came here to cool off before I reached out for help," he felt Michael's hand grip his shoulder and he leaned into the pressure. "It was good, Michael, having a place like this. A place to go where I knew no one could get me. And when I went up there," he pointed a little unsteadily to the waterfall, balancing against the rock, "I saw symbols everywhere. Were those on purpose?"

Michael tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing: "What kind of symbols?"

Alex pushed off the rock, Michael following him through the water. But when he got inside, it was too dark for either of them to see.

"We might have to wait until dawn --" Alex started and then Michael held out his hand, a flashlight from his bag flying across the hot spring, around the waterfall, snapping neatly into his hand. Alex felt a grin split his face. Every time Michael used his powers around him, it felt like he was getting another peek through the keyhole into the golden part of his life he shared with no one else but Isobel and Max.

He shared Alex's smile and flicked on the light -- before flicking it back off with a harsh sound. The light had killed Alex's night vision, so he was left trying to fumble for Michael in the dark, trying to find him without slipping into the pool. Their arms connected and Alex grabbed his wrist, the muscles shaking and he wrapped himself around Michael, pulling him in, legs tangled, arms banding around him as he felt him falling to pieces, chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart.

"Michael, Michael, what's -- "

He felt him shake his head against his shoulder, wet hair dripping down his back, fingers tight on his spine.

"I didn't," he gasped, "I didn't," and Alex ran his hands up and down his back, trying to hold him together with his own two hands.

"Breathe, Michael, breathe with me," and he took a deep, demonstrative breath. Michael ignored him. But then he did it again. And again. And finally, with a huff of irritation, Michael began to breath with him. Slowly, his tremors stilled, his hands became less frantic, and Alex could feel his own body calming down from their shared panic.

"'You didn't' what?" Alex started and he still could barely see shades of grey, but he could see the light in Michael's golden eyes as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Alex's. His voice had a forced calm to it, like he was gripping his tense of equilibrium with clenched fists: "I didn't do this on purpose. I've never -- I've never seen my own language around me, around us. It was just a lot, seeing so much of it all at once, someplace I made." There was more to it, Alex could tell from his cautious words. He rolled his forehead against Alex's, the slide of skin warm and close: "I didn't do it on purpose. It must have come from inside of me, from how we did this, together. I just --"

And he flashed on the light, scoping it over the walls over Alex's shoulder. Alex couldn't see what he was looking at, couldn't read it even if he could see it, but he saw it in Michael's eyes, saw what it meant. He knew it in his bones but he had to ask:

"Is this -- is this your map home? Is this what you need to leave?" He asked. And he refused to think about how it sounded, he wasn't thinking about what it meant, for Michael to have a home among the stars, about Michael leaving, being gone from him -- he just knew it was what Michael had been wanting, for as long as he knew how to want. He was prepared to brick off the heartbreak of it, to slice himself away from that feeling, just to watch Michael discovering his path to where he needed to go.

But Michael wasn't prepared for that. He pulled himself back, flashlight clattering to the stone floor, rolling to rest against Alex's hip as Michael's hands flew to either side of Alex's face, cradling his suddenly tight jaw, thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs, forcing Alex to meet his shining eyes: "No, no, love, no. You are my home." He glanced to the wall behind him. "This would let me complete the ship, but it wouldn't be for me to go." He frowned, trying to push the words through Alex's growing walls, "It would be for _us_ to go."

Alex's breath caught in his chest. He'd flown, dozens, hundreds of times. Technically, he'd touched space on one of their highest altitude test flights. But the idea of breaking the atmosphere, of being _among_ the stars was something he'd never, ever let himself dream of. But now he found it was all he could think of. He leaned in closer, trying to dig the truth out of Michael's eyes: "Are you sure?"

Michael shook his head: "What, like I'd rather have Izzy as my co-pilot than you?  _Of course_ I would want you to come with me. I never want to leave you again, Alex. Never. Not if I can do anything to help it."

Alex didn't know what he was feeling -- hopeful and driven and distracted and yes, given how much skin he was touching, lust was no small feature. But this, this was the future Michael really wanted. Not the human compromise, the quiet life they could get with what he had at 17. This was the life they could have _now_ , together, as they were, as the last decade had made them.

"It would be an amazing adventure," he said, leaning in to kiss Michael, just once, just lightly. "It would be incredible to share it with you."

Michael kissed him back before pulling back, eyes roving over the walls. "It's going to take me at least a few months to understand everything that's here, maybe a year to build everything. But then --"

"Then we can see the stars."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to @chasingshhadows on Tumblr for their story about Michael and Alex in the booth of the emporium: https://chasingshhadows.tumblr.com/post/185261486744/i-really-love-the-idea-of-michael-hanging-out-with
> 
> Also, thank you all so much for your amazing comments! They bring me so much joy and so many ideas about where to take this. If you have date ideas or requests, I am absolutely open to them.


	11. Nine Weeks and Five Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drove about 750 miles this weekend and thanks to my recording app, I now have drafts of so many upcoming chapters. Tomorrow I'll be transcribing them and editing more, but in the meantime, here's a nice little bite of plot.

Alex Manes woke-up in the Airstream an hour before dawn on the day his father was supposed to arrive to pick-up his things. His entire body was tight, his leg near seizing. He tried to breathe through it: the panic that he would arrive early, what he would do when he found Alex wasn't at the house. Then Michael's arms wrapped around his stomach, his sleepy voice saying:

"Hey, hey, did something happen on the monitor?"

Alex flipped his phone over, checking the video feed; still nothing but Sheriff Valenti's car parked in front of his house.  When Sheriff Valenti had come into her station at 8am on Monday morning only to find 25 assembled boxes labeled "Jesse Manes' Shit" lining the corridor, she had a few questions. Once Max had explained, she had a few suggestions.

She found a local attorney to file an emergency order of protection with a sympathetic judge. She retroactively approved the storage of the material in the Sheriff's department . Then she had gone one further, volunteering to stay the night at Alex's place so that if Jesse Manes decided to show up, she could have some strong words with him. Alex got the impression that Sheriff Valenti had been waiting to have strong words with Jesse Manes about him for decades.

Last night, Michael had set-up some cameras, all feeding into an app on his and Alex's phones, so if anything moved around the property they would be able to see it. Now that they knew that the answer to so many of Michael, Isobel, and Max's lives was carved into the stone of the hot spring, it was doubly-important to keep Jesse Manes away from it.

This all should have made Alex feel safer. He wasn't even in the house; his father might not even try to go there. He might follow the rules like a good soldier, get his things, and leave. But the same part of him that had memorized the sound of his father's footsteps down the hallway to his room and could _always_ distinguish them from his brothers' or mother's, was 100% certain that he and Michael were in danger.

"You can go back to sleep, it's fine,"

"Yeah," Michael said, dark humor in his voice. "When I wake-up stone cold sober in the middle of the night, the right before a monster has threatened to come near by home, what I _really_ like to do is lay back down into the same nightmare." He sat-up, holding out a hand for Alex. "Come on," he said.

Alex hung back, so Michael proceeded to flirt him out of bed, flirt him into some sweatpants, flirt him into drinking a big glass of water and an energy bar, then flirt him down into the vault under the Airstream.

Michael had been up as late as Alex setting up the camera system, but he seemed to have turned on his naturally-caffeinated self, so he spent the next 3 hours bounding around his lab explaining every possible thing to Alex. Alex was only tracking about 15% of what he said; one of the things that they don't always tell you about fight/flight/freeze/fawn is that it takes a huge amount of mental power to be scared. But he found himself laughing, over and over again as the clock counted down in his heart, particularly when Michael showed him a knob on the control panel, which made bizarre, ethereal, horrifying sounds.

He choked-out: "Is that what your language sounds like?"

Michael made one of the sounds until Alex cracked up again, arms around his waist, face buried in Michael's shoulder.

When the time came, Alex put on his uniform and headed to work. Alex needed to go to base; he wan't going to let his Dad's bullshit disrupt his life more than it already had. Michael kissed him on the cheek and sent him into work with more protein bars, knowing he probably wouldn't eat otherwise. Around 10am, when Alex was in the middle of a meeting, he got the text through Signal:

 

> Max Evans: The shitbird has landed. He's at the station, doesn't seem to hav gone by the house. He's picking-up his stuff.

Alex focused hard on the meeting and tried to keep remember the look of Sherrif Valenti's face when he'd handed her a spare key, a kind of motherliness that he couldn't remember seeing before. It was motherliness like came from a mother black bear: she'll just swat the shit out of anything that threatens her cubs -- including the cubs themselves if they don't do a good job of taking care of themselves.

27 minutes later he got another text.

 

> Max Evans: he complained that not all of his stuff was there. 
> 
> Max Evans: I told him it was.
> 
> Max Evans: He asked how I knew.
> 
> Max Evans: I told him I'd packed-it.
> 
> Max Evans: He had some not particularly complimentary words about me, you, the department in general. But after I showed him a photo of the empty room, he didn't seem to think he had any room to complain. I think we're in the clear for the rest of the day.

He left his cubical, went to the single-stall bathroom, and slid down the textured wall, phone clutched in his hands the only light in the dark.

 

> Alex: Thank you. Michael is keeping an eye on the cameras while he's helping Liz in the lab.

He gritted his teeth and tried to remember the rest of the plan he, Michael, and Max had worked out since Monday. Part 1: keep Jesse away from the house today. Part 2: eliminate Jesse Manes as a threat to all of them, without killing him. That last stipulation hadn't come from Alex, but from Max, who was certain that killing Jesse Manes would bring a whole lot of violent government attention none of them knew how to survive. 

Getting Isobel safe again was a key part of Part 2 and Liz thought she was making progress on the antidote. It was a tight timeline: getting the antidote, getting Isobel out and recovered, figuring out exactly what she could do to Jesse Manes, all before his two weeks leave was up. Other than make sure that Jesus had rides to Crashdown, there was very little Alex could actually do to move that part forward.

Alex texted Michael to let him know it was over and got a relieved emoji back. He finished out his day, working until 7 to make-up for his not-particularly focused behavior.

Part of him just wanted to o back to the Airstream, to camp-out someplace that Jesse Manes was unlikely to go to. _It's my house_ , he reminded himself and h e drove home. 

His chest unclenched when he saw Michael's pale teal truck was in the driveway. Michael was flopped in the back bed of the truck, sleeping bag under his head, reading.

As Alex approached, he saw he was 2/3s of the way through _Ender's Game._

" _Ender's Shadow_ is better," Alex said, voice teasing.

Michael plopped the book down on his chest: "I _know_ _Ender's Shadow_ is better. But it doesn't make very much sense unless you've read _Ender's Game_ recently, so if I want to enjoy the re-read, I always have to read _Ender's Game_ first." 

"They're different stories," Alex said and Michael shook his head, curls flying.

"They're the same story from different perspectives,"   


"Orson Scott Card was writing fanfiction for himself." Michael's hair was in his eyes and all Alex wanted to do was curl up in his lap and argue about YA SF all night.

Alex shrugged; it's not like he was wrong. He took a step closer, thighs close to brushing Michael's knees.

Alex asked: "Did you try _The Expanse_ yet?"

Michael's eyes grew big, voice excited: "Yes, I have,"

Alex tilted his head: "So, what do you think, will Antarans be like Mars, or Earth, or the Belters?"

Michaels' voice was considering, fiddling with the book on his chest. "I don't know. Part of me thinks it will be a monarchy, since most cultures go through that at some point. Military dictatorship is another option. But I," he looked down at his hands, "The console I've repaired so far cannot be operated by one person. It requires at least six pairs of hands. And unless I can grow more limbs, then it means that my people are used to working cooperatively. That's what I'm hoping for; a democracy."

Alex felt this thrum of feeling move through him, push him that least step, standing between Michael's knees. Michael set the paperback to the side and sat-up, bringing his hands to Alex's elbows, gently tucking his ankles behind Alex's knees, easing him that last little bit forward.

"Hey," Michael said, tipping his head back to look Alex in the eyes. Alex had an extra inch on him from this angle. Michael's eyes were soft on him, his hands steady on his arms. Alex, just for a moment, let the weight of the day settle on his shoulders,, leaning his head down on Michael's shoulder as his hands swept large, comforting patterns across his back.

"I've got you," Michael said, "I've got you."

Alex's arms went around him and he pulled back just long enough to kiss Michael, his stubble scratching and his mouth the exact taste of home.

\--

A week later, late in the afternoon, Alex got the Signal text he'd been waiting for from Liz in their Team Alien group that included Max, Michael, Liz, Kyle, and Isobel's number:

 

> Liz Ortecho: We have an antidote. It's Michael-approved. We're meeting at the pods at 6pm.
> 
> Max Evans: I'm concerned that all of our trucks driving out to the same bit of desert would draw too much attention, particularly since Jesse Manes is still in town.
> 
> Alex: So let's meet-up at Crashdown and I can drive. I have enough seats.

The others agreed.

For Alex, seeing the pods live-and-in-person was -- something else. Alex had read about the crash, seen pieces of it, touched the ones Michael had shown him and the piece he'd found in the wall of the cabin.  But seeing them glowing, etherial and gentle, keeping Isobel safe, it brought the reality of their, well, alienness to him. He tried not to let it worry him, but the idea of Michael as a little kid, stuffed into a pod, coming out -- scared? disoriented? Even with Isobel and Max with him, the thought of it made his heart clench.

Once everyone was settled, with nothing approaching ceremony, Liz and Max pulled Isobel out. She looked awful, but she was alive. Kyle monitored her vitals as she coughed and Liz administered the antidote. Alex held his breath, held Michael's hand, and -- Isobel took a breath, body looking better, eyes sharp. She looked around at the crowd in the cave, staring:

"So, who _doesn't_ know about us now?"

Liz explained what they had done, with Max interjecting his perspective, as Michael looped his arm over Alex's shoulders, bringing him some warmth in the desert night. He shivered and reached-up to hold his hand gratefully.

The movement caught Isobel's eye and she turned to them, looking at Michael's arm over Alex's shoulder, Michael's smile. She said:  


"Fucking _finally_."

She began to shoe everyone out, to give her space to get dressed. Alex expected she was going to be taking the mother of all showers as soon as she got home. Noah was out of town at a conference, so she would have a few days to figure out how to explain herself to him.

He had a thought, turning to Michael: "Hey, do you think everyone might want to come by the hot spring tonight? Give them a chance to decompress in a not-public space?"

Michael ducked his head, murmuring: "I made that space for you --"

"For _us_ ," Alex corrected.

"Yeah," Michael said, though he didn't sound like he believed Alex. But he kept going: "I mean, we've never had anyplace we could talk other than Max's house. If you're offering, that would be great, but I don't want to --"

Alex stepped forward, clapping his hands: "Hey, the night's not over yet. We have probably all got some decompressing and planing to do. You're all invited over to my place. Michael and I have something to show you."


	12. Eight Weeks and Five Days

They went back to Crashdown first, so nobody would be stranded at his place. Michael, Max, and Isobel swung by Isobel's place to get her a change of clothes and a shower. She was full of energy and not at all interested in being inside any kind of enclosed space, so they're excited about the hot spring. 

When Alex pulls into his driveway, Kyle and Liz are already there, kicking their heels against the porch.

As Alex climbed out of his truck, he thought about what was in the fridge. Michael always brought more food than they needed, always stuff that would make good snacks, that wouldn't go bad. They had frozen stew in the freezer, chips, left-over guacamole. They had a couple of beers and some wine left-over from the picnic, along with cheese and some crackers they hadn't gotten to.

There was this small part of him that revelled in watching Michael be so domestic, in Michael having enough storage space to keep a month's supply of food if he wanted to. Alex knew hunger had been a part of Michael's life growing up and being able to give him a space where he wasn't hungry, where he knew he could get food; it felt good.

He called out to Liz and Kyle: "The hot spring is a half-mile out back. The punishment for arriving before the host is you can help me pull together the food."

"You're feeding us?" Liz asked.

"Michael would kill me if I didn't feed everyone."

There was a flash of worry across Liz's face and Alex softened his voice: "Guerin likes to take care of the people he likes."

"So I'm not eating, then?" Kyle asked with a smirk.

Alex shook his head and headed up the stairs. When he opened the door, he looked into the bare living room, even with his beautiful new paint, and remembered what Michael had said about how the way you set-up a home defined how people could interact with you in it. He muttered as Liz and Kyle came through the door:

"We were planning on getting furniture, but then the thing with my Dad --"

Liz glanced around the open room: "What kind of furniture were you thinking?"

Alex moved over to kitchen cabinets, pulling out the snacks and stacking them on the counter.  He pointed to the garage, where there were currently no laundry piles, since he'd needed something to do while Michael set-up the cameras the night before, and told Kyle:  "There's some empty boxes in there that Max didn't need -- can you get a couple and pack this up?"

He turned back to Liz: "We were thinking a couch, some chairs -- enough for the six of us to sit inside."

"Six?" Liz said and Alex paused. That number had been bouncing around his head ever since Michael had mentioned the number of people it would take to fly his ship. Six people made-up a bridge crew: captain, comms, engineer, medical, helm, security. Six people to run the ship.

He opened the fridge, balancing on the door to get some weight off his leg as he hauled out a few mixed six-packs. Neither he nor Michael were drinking much, but they still had the grocery habits of the past decade, so their fridge tended to fill-up with unopened beer.

"You, me, Kyle, Michael, Max, and Isobel," he answered.

"Got it," Liz said, "I’m going antiquing in Albuquerque if you’d like to come. I'm going to change into my suit here, if that's ok?"

"That's really kind -- I think we'd like that a lot. And yeah, bathroom's where it was before."

Alex headed to the bedroom and hauled-out his board shorts, tossing a pair to Kyle. It took him more time than the others to change, so when he came out Kyle and Liz were already changed, leaning against the counter and chatting.

Liz was wearing a 1950s-inspired two-piece that wrapped like boy shorts around the waist with a halter-top; Kyle was wearing his board shorts with one of Alex's towel's slung around his shoulders.

Alex grabbed a tote bag from the bag drawer and began to fill it up with what wouldn't fit into the boxes. He'd use the crutch to get to the hot spring and carrying a box wasn't going to be an option. He texted Michael:

> _"We're heading to the spring; Liz and Kyle changed in the house and we've got food for the group. See you soon."_

Once he had it ready to go, he gestured out the door and the others followed, listening as they gossiped about people they knew at the hospital, feeling the quiet night's air moving softly around them, the sound of his cane on the sturdy gravel.

Liz was the first to spot the hot spring.

She said, voice slightly awed: "Is that a waterfall?"

Alex stayed quiet.

She sped forward, hands going out wide, twirling around to stare at him: "Michael made you a waterfall?"

"We're going to plant some plants over the edges, so it'll keep it cooler in the summer," Alex said, pointing to where Michael had shown him. "It gets deep enough to swim in in the middle, but there's rocks and railings everywhere so I can get around."

Liz turned toward him, laying her towel on the still-warm rock, muttering something like: "Max is going to seriously up his game and I don't know how Noah is ever going to catch-up."

She waded into the water, humming with pleasure: "Oh, that's incredible, Alex."

He let the grin spread across his face: "You should tell Michael."

She shook her head: "I don't think his ego needs any boosting."

Alex sat down, began to work off his prosthetic. "You should tell him," he repeated, "He hasn't gotten a lot of positive feedback in his life and I think he should hear it from someone he respects as much as he respects you."

Liz paused, looking over at him: "You think Michael respects me?"

Alex nodded: "He shared all of his biomedical secrets with you, right? Michael's kept all of that a secret for 10 years. Max doesn't know; Isobel doesn't know. She shared it with you."

"He shared it to save Isobel." She said, treading water, black hair spreading out behind her as Kyle got the food out.

"Maybe, but also because he thinks you can help. He respects you enough to trust you with his secret; there's not a lot of people who Michael Guerin trusts."

"He sure as shit doesn't trust me," Kyle said, whipping the towel off his neck and piling it on top of Liz's.

"Did you ever apologize to him?" Alex asked, voice even, feeling his eyes go hard.

Kyle narrowed his eyes: "For what?" 

"You created an environment of fear at our high school," he said.

Kyle shook his head.

Alex pressed on: "You think I was the only one who got beat-up because of shit you said? Do you know how badly Michael was catching it at home, and then he'd go to school, and catch the same shit?"

"It was the culture," Kyle defended.

"Kyle, we _are_ the culture," Liz growled, disgust clear on her face. "We _set_ the culture. Just because it was easy for us, doesn't mean it was right, and doesn't mean that people didn't suffer."

Liz turned to Alex: "I should have done more."

"You dumped Kyle at prom in front of all his friends. It's a damn sight more than most people did."

She shook her head: "I could have done more."

He looked over at Kyle: "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Michael's survived a lot more than what you put him through. But you didn't help. School could have been a place that he was safe, but it wasn't --"

"The teachers -- " Kyle started.

"Yeah, there's no just one person who was wrong. There's not some kind of ranked-voting for how shitty behavior happens. All I'm saying is, Michael saw Liz stand up to you, stand up to your bullshit. He trusts her now. He has never heard you, once, apologize for any of it."

"What good would an apology do?" Kyle grumbled.

"Why don't you try it out and see?"

Kyle glanced to the side, the sound of feet approaching down the path interrupted them.

Isobel's voice was loud and clear: "Wow, Michael, you did all this? It's _beautiful."_

Alex glanced back, seeing Michael ducking, hiding what Alex knew was a fierce grin beneath the shadowed brim of his Stetson. Max's arms were full of blankets for them all to sit on.

"Well, I had to listen _sometimes_ when you were talking about garden design."

Isobel gestured with her hand, Max looking around: "Look at those lines you made. And the height of that waterfall? I'm going to have to get you to make me one of these."

Michael glanced over at Alex, a smirk moving across his face. "We'll have to see if Alex is up for it."

"What did Alex have to do with it?"

Michael quickly explained the 'process' he'd used to build power to make the hot spring.

Isobel and Max looked thoughtful.

"I had never thought of that," Max said, "I always thought of those outbursts as things that happened to us. I never thought of it as something we could power."

Michael shrugged his shoulders. "Well, we didn't know if it would be. But it turns out it is. Between you and Liz, you could probably find out a way to power-up your healing."

"And did it feel the same, like being water-boarded?" Max asked.

Alex frowned. He'd been waterboarded at SERE training. If that's what using their powers usually meant for the Evanses and for Michael, he was surprised they used their powers at all.

Michael shook his head: "It's not like that. It's more like -- swimming. When you do it the way we did it. I control how fast I go down and I control how fast I come back up. It's a steadier power source."

Max took off his hat, slapping the dust off it on his thigh.

"Well, we certainly have something to think about."

Isobel threw-up her hands: "But not until _after_ we try out this beautiful water."

Her swimsuit was straight out of a fashion magazine, abstract lines and a rich coral that showed off her skin.

Alex set his prosthetic in its spot, now glad it had a small rock shield in front of it as he watch Kyle edge around the pool, looking for the deepest spot he could jump in.

Alex waited for the others to head in and Michael came to sit beside him. He shucked his shirt and laid it beside Alex's, lining his boots off next to Alex's prosthetic, shimming off his jeans and leaving himself in his navy briefs.

They sat, arm pressed to arm, as Michael's eyes never left Isobel. Alex's voice was low when he said: "I was going to let you tell them all about the map."

Michael glanced over: "You don't think it will freak them out? Max and Isobel have been trying to make this their home their whole lives."

Alex shrugged: "You know them better than I do. But everyone wants to know where they come from," he took a big breath, "Everyone wants to come from a good place. It was something I learned when I first started working with foster kids. A lot of times volunteers who work with foster kids want to talk shit with them about their parents. They assume they hate them. But no matter what someone's parents did, one of most people's deepest needs to to know that they came from someplace good. That we are good." He looked over at the Evans. "Even if they've been covering it their whole lives, they'll want to know."

Michael ducked his head, pressing his lips against Alex's bare shoulder. Alex closed his eyes at the sensation.

He heard Michael's low whisper: "I think you're good no matter where you come from, Alex Manes."

Alex looked over at their friends, splashing and playing in the water. "I'm ok with my found family being good. My bio family, well, they only got the first 28 years. I get the next."

Michael slipped his fingers down to Alex's wrist, tugging him along: "Come on, enough serious talk, let's get in the water. I'm going to dunk Kyle and I need your help to do it."

Alex laughed: "You're on."

Kyle splashed them as they worked their way into the water, giving them ample pretext to pile on him and dunk him under the water.He was just tall enough he could bounce his feet off the floor and come back up, spluttering and pushing the water out of his eyes.

" _Why_ ," he whined, fiddling with his hair as they tread water around each other.

Alex glanced at him. "I think you know why."

Then something settled over Kyle and he paused and turned to Michael, squaring his shoulders. "I was an asshole in high school. And I am sorry,"

Michael stared hard over at Alex and then craned his neck around to stare at Isobel: "Iz, are you controlling him again?"

Kyle huffed, throwing an arm over the rock in the middle as Isobel shook her head.

"I'm not even listening to him," she said lazily.

Michael looked at Kyle: "Why are you sorry?"

Kyle picked at the stone on the rock. "When Alex and I reconnected, when he came back to town, he told me I was a homophobic jerk. That I picked on him because he was gay." He looked up, into Michael's eyes: "It was true. I did the same thing to you and every other kid in the high school who stood out. It was fucked up. I should have done better. Not doing shit like that should be been a part of my family's code." He looked up at the stars, trying to find the words. "As the son of the Sheriff, I had a kind if power. I used the power that I had to make other people less safe. That's something I have to make-up for. And I'm going to try. But first I wanted to say I'm sorry. Because that's not how I would have wished to be in the world and that's now how I am now, and I want to show you that."

Michael blinked, swimming back a little bit until his back pressed into Alex's front. Alex reached behind himself to sling an arm over the wall, bracing him self so he didn't have to tread water to hold Michael's weight, holding onto him.

Securely braced, Michael said: "Ok, I'm willing to see you try."

Kyle nodded, holding his hand out to shake. Michael splashed him and Kyle laughed, ducking under the water to slick his hair back. When he bobbed back up, there was a strange look on his face.

He lowered his voice: "Is there -- is there a map on the floor of the pool?"

Alex felt Michael stiffen against him. He ducked down, diving through the moving water. He held his breath for nearly a minute, pushing himself against his own buoyancy to keep near the floor.

He popped back up, gasping, arm flailing and Alex reached out, dragging him through the water to the wall where he tried to catch his breath. 

Isobel and Max had swum closer, twin worried looks on their faces.

"What --" Max started and Michael waved his hand, wiping water off his face, still gasping.

"When I -- when I made this for Alex. Something else happened too.  I didn't do it on purpose. And I didn't control it when it happened. But I do want you to see it now it's happened. It's easiest to see in the cave, but like Kyle said, it's actually everywhere around us once you know where to look."

Isobel cocked her head, the gesture so like Michael's it made Alex's head swim. She asked: "Is that why you wanted us to come here?"

Alex spoke up: "I wanted you all to come here for three reasons: first, to thank those of you who helped out with the thing with my Dad last week and the other projects we've been working together on as a team; second, is to put all of our brains together to think to how to eliminate my Dad as a threat to the group; third, to let Michael show you all what he did here."

Max leaned in: "You don't have to thank us to helping out with your Dad. I think we all feel we should have done more, years ago."

Alex shook his head: "He's my war, not yours."

Max frowned: "What he did to you is against the law. Just because he wasn't caught, doesn't make him any less of an abuser. It was Valenti's Dad's job and now it's mine to stop him. So no thanks necessary, is what I'm saying."

Isobel spoke up: "And as one of the group's projects, I would also like to say thank you. Without Liz and Michael, I would still be in that pod and not out here, plotting with you all."

Michael was practically vibrating. "Max and Isobel, I can show you the cave first. It's clearest there."

The cave wasn't big enough for more than the three of them. It was dim enough he had to call over the flashlight. Their voices were low murmurs in the cave and Alex, Kyle, and Liz all rested their arms on red gritty surface of the central rock, trying to pretend like they weren't listening in.

Isobel and Max's faces were wet when the came out from under the waterfall, and Alex didn't think it was because of the mist. He wondered if it had been as intense for them as it had been for Michael, seeing their birth language spiraling and sparkling around them. Seeing a map home. They climbed-up out of the pool to sit on the bench together, talking about what they had seen. Michael called-up Kyle and Liz as Alex swam over the Max and Isobel.

He pulled himself up onto the low bench, legs still dangling in the water. 

"Are you all ok?" he asked.

Max's eyes were big and it was Isobel who answered: "I just -- I had no idea he was this far along. How would I tell Noah? How -- Max -- your job --"

Alex looked between the two of them: "Michael said it might take him at least a year to build anything that could get off planet. You've got time. You don't have to make the choice today."

"He said he wanted to take you with him," Isobel said, eyes sharp. "Did he tell you that?"

Alex nodded. She looked at him: "Why would you want to leave your planet? The only place you've ever known?"

Alex looked around at the starlit desert, looked-up into the only view of the Milky Way he'd ever seen.

His voice was quiet: "He's Michael. He's the only home I've ever had."

"Won't you miss your family, your --" Isobel stumbled.

Alex looked around, thinking of the past 10 years: "Everybody dies, Isobel. I could die. You could die. I could lose any of you at any time. We can't live in hermetically sealed boxes; none of us can. Time didn't move for you in the pod, right?" She nodded. "So you got to pause. But you wouldn't have wanted to stay there forever. Living is always a risk and rarely is anything permanent -- so why not have an adventure.It's more dangerous driving a car than flying a plane, and if it's a ship that Michael built, it's probably safer than most 747s. So why not go and see what else is out there, if there's a home for all of us."

There was a twinkle of something like understanding in Isobel's eyes but Max still looked doubtful.

There was a crow from inside the cave and Alex couldn't immediately tell if it came from Michael or Kyle. There was the sound of multiple people clambering down into the water. Michael and Kyle were chattering excitedly as they swam over to where Alex sat, Liz ducking under the water to get a better look at the underwater map.

Michael anchored himself on Alex's ankle and grinned up at him: "Valenti has an idea about how to get a good look at the words under the water."

"My cousin has a pump for their pool. We can divert the flow from the spring, drain the hot spring, let the remainder dry in the sun, take pictures of all of it, and turn it into --"

Michael broke in: "A 3D rendering, since I don't know if the positionality would be lost if it was represented in 2D --"

Alex smiled: "We'll just have to make sure there's no coyotes," and Michael laughed.

They all climbed out to cool off and stuff themselves with the food Liz and Kyle and Alex had carried out.

While they were sitting on one of the quilts, Alex raised a hand. He gave the group an update on what was happening with his Dad with Michael's left hand on his knee.

Kyle leaned in, eyes tight: "That order of protection is only as good asits enforcement. And with only Cam, Max, and the Sheriff, they can't be here every time."  His normally boyish face was serious: "I see people come in the ER all the time who had orders of protection their abuser violated. It's good for after the fact, but it's not really a preventative measure." 

Michael glanced at him, nodding. He looked at Isobel. "We thought that maybe, Iz, there's some way that you could help. I don't know. Convince the Master Sergeant that he doesn't want to bother us anymore."

Her smile was biting: "It seems like the only things he cares about is hunting aliens and hurting his kids."

Alex froze, Michael's hand on his knee warm and there, bringing him back again. 

He took a breath: "I don't entirely understand how your powers work, but it's a kind of suggestion, right? So, there's two problems. One: he hates me, and therefore wants to destroy anyone that I love. Two: he wants to hunt aliens. Since I got Project Shepherd shut down, his ability to use government resources is limited. That leaves just the harm he can do on his own."

Liz said: "Is there any way you can just get him permanently stationed away from here?"

Alex shook his head: "I don't have that kind of pull and he'll be able to retire and come back at some point. He's been like --"

Michael broke in: "A shadow. He's a threat to Alex, to all of us, as long as he knows that we exist."

Kyle's voice was quiet: "I don't thinkit would be hard to convince him that he only had three sons."

Isobel was shaking her head: "Maybe for a few weeks, but as soon as someone mentions Alex to him, he'll remember again. We can't change the past, even inside his head."

Liz leaned in: "Maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe Isobel can convince him that he's won."

Alex looked over: "What do you mean?"

"If he thinks you're his good -- read: straight, white, alien-hating -- son, then his need is met. Whenever he thinks of you, he can rest easy knowing you're continuing his legacy, and Isobel can give him the same kind of 'stay away from Roswell' encouragement she gave me," she glanced at Isobel and the look was not entirely friendly. "I know for a fact it works."

Isobel broke in: "Look, I just need to get in the same space as him, figure out how his brain works. Then we can figure out what's motivating him and figure out a plan. I don't think we're going to brainstorm our way into his head."

Alex glanced over at her: "If you were a comic book superhero, 'Brainstorm' wouldn't be a bad name."

She quirked a grin, so much like Michael's it made Alex match it: "I would _never_ wear a super suit. Cape or no, Lycra is too unforgiving."

The group snickered, devolving into discussing their super hero names as Michael's hand rested low and warm in the middle of Alex's back.

They finished up the snacks, a few of them taking a dip in the hot spring. Max and Isobel went back with Michael to look over the markings again with the flashlight.

They all decided to head-out at the same time. Max and Isobel helped carry the towels and shoes, Liz and Kyle repacking the boxes, Michael packing up the blankets, Alex carrying a bag of trash.

Kyle did the dishes as Alex watched from his stool and Liz hauled the trash out to the highway bin. When she came back, she came over to Alex, bracing her hip on the counter.

"Jesus has been doing a really good job," she said, "My dad has been so happy with him."

Alex smiled: "I'm really glad. He's a good kid."

Liz looked to the side: "His Dad is --" and she didn't seem to know how to say it.

"Yeah."

She looked down at her hands. "I think we can give him full time hours. If he saves up through the summer, there should be no problem, him being able to move out. Do you think he'll be ok until --"

Alex reached over and gripped her fingers. "He knows how to take care of himself. He has people looking out for him. It's not ok what's happening, but he can survive it. We have to trust that he knows what he's doing, for him and his brother."

Liz gripped his fingers: "I just -- I hate to see people around me get hurt."

Alex smiled: "Yeah, me too."

Liz glanced over at him and looked out over the bare living room. "Speaking of," she said, "If we're going to have a lot more planning sessions like this, you're going to need some furniture."

Alex rolled his eyes: "You and Michael with the furniture."

She glanced over: "I'm going into Albuquerque next weekend to have a pointed and high-volume conversation with one of our suppliers who's started to slow-walk our deliveries. There's a bunch of thrift stores up there, I was thinking of getting some art for Rosa's old room." She paused, "Do you want to come with?"

"Michael and I --" He started.

"Michael could come too," Liz said, "We haven't figured out a new project to bring him in on in the lab yet, and I think his hours at the junkyard are pretty variable."

Alex smiled. "That would be pretty great. I'm not really good at any of this house stuff, but Michael's been making the persuasive case that it's a lot more important than I grew up thinking."

Liz grinned: "Femme skills, they're real skills."

Alex smiled. "Hey," he said, voice quiet, "You and Max, does it ever -- if Max wanted to go, back home, do you think you would go with him?"

She looked over at him, glancing out the window to where the stars shown through the clear desert air.

"All I ever wanted," she said, "Was to fix things, to help people live longer. Max's power, that's what he does. If there are more people like him on their planet -- and I think there are, since they have pods that keep people alive for decades, unchanging -- if we could bring some of that technology, that stuff that preserves life, maybe could heal addicts, back here? We could change things. We could change things for millions of people."

She glanced up, to where they both knew the Milky Way hung glimmering and gently curving above them. "Yeah," she said, "I'd go to the stars and back for that."

\--

Alex got the text message early the following Monday; his Dad was only in town for three more days.

The text was from Max. _"Isobel is having breakfast with the shitbird this morning. Something about another gala to benefit the VA. She's going to try to get a read on him."_

Isobel had told Noah she'd been in rehab for double the usual period and he'd seemed to accept it.  While Alex was supposed to be working, he found himself realizing he'd never understood where her power came from. Max and Michael, they wore their capacity for violence, their masculine-style power aggressively, but Alex was starting to understand there were other kinds of power too. Kinds that Isobel wielded that made her just as powerful, if not more so, than her brothers. Powers that could see though people like an x-ray, see who they _are,_ powers that changed who people _were_ , not just what they did.

Then, a few hours later, from Isobel: _"I think I've got a way in. give me a call when you can."_

He drove outside the perimeter at lunchtime, sitting in his truck on the side of the highway and eating the protein bars Michael had hidden in his dash as he dialed her number.

Her voice sounded tired, but there was something steely in it. She sighed when she started: "Just to start off, I agree with Maximo's assessment. Your Dad is a fucking asshole."

Alex huffed a laugh. 

She continued: "So," he could hear her trying to organize her thoughts, "I don't want to hurt your feelings --"

Alex shook his head, knowing she couldn't see him, "Look, I've known what my father thinks of me my whole life. He's been trying to beat the gay out of me before I knew it was part of me. You're not going to shock me."

He heard her pause. "It can be different, hearing it in someone else's words." She took a breath, "Anyway, so, I think, for him, it's all tied up around itself. Michael, you, your orientation, aliens, they're not different problems for him. They're all the same problem. He's been obsessed since his Dad read him in in high school. He's not going to forget it. It's as much his identity as the military and his masculinity. Taking that obsession away from him, that just wouldn't make any sense to him emotionally. But if he thinks," she paused, backtracking: "He wants to pass it down to you. He was the youngest son, he thinks there's something powerful about that family role. Something about having to prove yourself. He hung a lot of stuff on you continuing his legacy, your whole life. it's a huge part of his internal life. I know you know this, but I want you to know what I know. He at his core, wants you to be a real 'Manes man,'" she said with a creepily-accurate imitation of his Dad's voice.

"It's been like a piece of glass in his boot, that you aren't what he thought you were going to be. So if we create a situation in his head, where you are what he thinks you should be --"

"I gave the Air Force 10 years trying to be what he thinks I needed to be --"

Isobel interrupted, voice harsh: "If he thinks you're straight and that you are committed to the whitest parts of the family legacy, he'll be able to leave Roswell and never come back."

Alex frowned: "How in God's name am I going to convince him of that in under 72 hours?"

Isobel's voice was brutally direct: "He needs to see you kill Michael."

Alex felt like there was a boot on his chest and a hand around his throat. "You want me to make him think I killed Michael?"  
  
Isobel's voice was sharp and derisive, and Alex knew it wasn't directed at him, but it hurt to hear and to even think about. "We'll set-up a scene, like in a play in three acts. He knows you and Michael have been dating, seen around town. That's the prologue." she took a hard breath, "Act 1: Maybe we make it look like Michael hurt you. Then you go to him to help. That's what he's alwayswaited for, always wanted for you to come, to grovel for him, to accept his authority." 

Alex's skin was crawling: "I don't know if I can --"

"You come to him. Act 2. You plan together a way to take out Michael. You _convince him,_ Alex, that you're the son he needs you to be. Act 3, he sees you do it. He sees you kill Michael. I'll be there, convince him he saw something he didn't see, that he's ready to leave Roswell and never come back. The End."

Alex covered his face: "What if he sees through it? He's had decades, training --" His breath hitched in his chest, he couldn't get enough air: "What if he hurts Michael? _Again?_ What if he hurts Michael again, Isobel? Can you risk that?"  


"No. God no. Look, Michael will be able to defend himself. All of us will be there -- we'll have tranq darts and bullets. I'm not going to see Michael hurt in front of me if I can do something about it. And if worst comes to worst, I'll liquify his brain. It won't be fun, but with Michael's ideas about a power-up, I think I can do it."

Alex shook his head: "I don't know, Isobel. It's a lot of risks and not a lot of time."

She said: "You're right. But it's not just you that he's endangering. It's all of us. So I think you need to talk to Michael about it. And I think you need to do it tonight."


	13. Seven Weeks and Six Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesse Manes remains a war crime, but one the team has a plan to address. This is a rough chapter for Alex, since he has to spend most of it in his father's company. But I'm posting the next chapter in like 15 minutes, so I won't leave you hanging, I promise.

They all came together at Max's house, Kyle bringing Chinese take-out and Isobel bringing an honest-to-God flip-chart.

Michael's initial reaction was absolute rejection: " _Fuck no_ we're not sending Alex to deal with Jesse _fucking_ Manes alone. _Fuck no_ , Iz, did the pod scramble your eggs? _Fuck._ "

Alex felt -- warmed? Irritated? Protected? He didn't know, just that he couldn't think of any other time someone had put protecting him above anything else. He leaned in, voice quiet, before Isobel could let the fire building in her eyes out into the world:

"Michael, I can do it."

Michael turned wild eyes to him: "Of course you can fucking do it, you're a fucking badass. But you _shouldn't have to_. It's not your problem to fix --"

"My father is my war --"

Michael was shaking his head so hard his curls were obscuring his warm eyes; Alex ached to touch them. But he didn't want to mix-up the feelings of anger and affection, wanted to keep them separate, so he kept his hands to himself.

His voice was a low grate: "It's not right. You shouldn't have to. There has to be something else we can do --"

Max broke in: "We've talked about a lot of the other options. Ducking our heads down and hoping he doesn't come in with a kill team in the dead of night isn't a solution, now we know he knows about us. If we send him to prison, he can still inform on us, and nearly everyone who goes to prison gets out, so we're just kicking the can down the road." He nodded to Alex and Kyle. "If we kill him, what did you say would happen, Alex?"

Alex knotted his hands in his lap, force of the gesture leaving them white and dimpled. Another hand crept into his view, scars rippling across the back of his hand. Michael took his hands in his, fingers gentle even as his eyes stayed fierce. Alex spoke to his hands:  


"They'll be an inquiry. Dozens of people from the base will be talking to all of us." He looked-up into Michael's eyes. "Right now, Project Shepherd is an embarrassing farce, cut from the DoD budget during the era of Furlough Fridays. An old man's war, best left in the 20th century. But a murder, of the main proponent of that project, in the town where he claimed to find major threats to national security," the phrase twisted his mouth but he said it, "That will make anyone at the Pentagon look twice. We can't afford to have them looking even once." He glanced over at Kyle.

"The same goes for any kind of major incapacitation. Him being knocked out, in a coma, brain scrambled -- same kind of investigation. I _fucking_ hate it, but we need to keep him alive and lying, believing the lie we want to put into his head."

Michael's eyes were wet, his voice harsh: "I don't want you hurt, Alex. He gets inside your head. I don't want that for you."

Alex kept his hand tightly gripped, thumb sweeping across his palm. "I don't want to be hurt either. I want to be with you. But I want you," and he glanced around the table, as the food was growing cold on everyone's plates but Kyle, who had learned long ago to eat during nearly any level of tense situation, "I want all of you safe. And if I have to survive two more days of Jesse Manes to get a lifetime without him, then that is sure as fuck worth it."

Michael buried his face in Alex's shoulder, wetness seeping through his henley, but finally nodded. He brushed off all of Alex's fears for his safety, with a damp-sounding:

"Now he knows about he, there's nothing stopping me from just freezing him in place if he does something we aren't prepared for. I can defend myself, Alex."

Alex kept his arm around Michael's shoulder, eyes hard as they finished the discussion.

Max agreed on one condition: every single member of their group would be armed. Either Kyle nor Liz would agree to take a life, but pepper spray wasn't usually fatal. He wanted there to be 5 people who were prepared to do what they had to to protect Michael. 

They cleaned-up, Kyle and Michael and Liz doing the dishes while Alex and Max went over the junkyard plan in the living room, Liz advising on how to load the dishwasher properly.

There wasn't enough room for Alex and Max and Isobel to help as well -- it was really a two-person kitchen, so they were keeping each other company on the couch. Alex rocked-up onto his feet, gathering himself. He'd be driving to the base as soon as they finished up. As soon as he kissed Michael goodbye.

Max looked-up at him and got a hurting look in his eye. He stood, putting a well-telegraphed hand on his shoulder.

"I hate to bring it up, but your Dad's going to need some kind of evidence. That Michael's gone bad."

Alex frowned: "Evidence? What kind of --"

Isobel spoke up: "He's probably aware of how you feel about him. What would it take for you to turn on Michael --"

"I wouldn't."

Isobel ducked her chin down, looking at him from under her eyebrows: "What if he got drunk? What if he got drunk and started a fight with you, got physical? He's known for being a brawler."

"Michael would never hit me."

Isobel nodded. "I know that. Max knows that. But think about what your Dad knows. Michael's had months when he was arrested weekly for gambling and drunken behavior."

"Yeah," Alex said.

"So," Isobel said, "So Michael comes home drunk. You won't let him in the door, because you don't want a drunk person in your house. He uses his telekinesis and --"

"You want me to show-up bruised," Alex said. "My Dad bruised me up my whole life; he wouldn't _care_."

Max rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Assholes like him, they tend to think of their wives, their kids, they tend to think of them as _theirs_. They're allowed to do what they want. Other people aren't. The first at kind of possessiveness, we can use it to our advantage."

Alex's voice was stiff in his throat: "Cut to the chase. It's going to be a long night if I'm going to have to spend it around the Master Sergeant."

Max pushed out a breath: "I don't want to hurt you, but I think if you go in there with a shiner, with bruises around your wrists, a split lip, I think it will help sell it."

Alex nodded: "Ok."

Isobel frowned. "Just like that?"

Alex shook his head: "You made your case. It makes sense. Look, I don't enjoy getting hit in the face, getting bruised. But if this is what we need to sell what we're going to sell, then yeah." He paused, "Make sure Michael doesn't see or hear. It's," he paused again, "He doesn't like to see me get hurt."

Isobel stood: "I'll ask for his help outside with the car."

Alex shrugged his shoulders, stretching out his neck. Whiplash was always the thing that hurt the worst from getting hit in the face, and the looser he started, the less it would hurt.

"One shiner and a split lip?" Max confirmed.

Alex nodded.

"Sorry about this, Alex. I'll heal you as soon as this is all done."

Alex gave him a dry smile as he watched Michael follow Isobel out the door. "On three?" Max nodded. He counted it out: "One, two, three --"

The blow rocked him back, catching the edge of his eye. Blood rushed to it and he felt a trickle of wetness. 

"Blech," he said, stretching his neck out. "Lip next, try not to chip any of my teeth --"

"I hate this," Max said, and Alex nodded.

  
"Yeah," Alex said, "Me too. Again on three, two, one --"

Max popped him in the mouth and he felt his lip split over his teeth. "Blech again," He resisted the urge to spit the blood on Max's fancy carpet.

He held his wrist out and Max grabbed it. On three, he squeezed, yanking so the thin skin over his wrist-bone turned red. It would fill-in with a bruise by the time he made it to base.

He patted Max on the shoulder and turned to the door. Max was making his absolute best sad puppy face. He realized that he should have kissed Michael before he got bruised up. He didn't want Michael to see him this way, so he slipped past him and Isobel, driving away without looking in the rear-view.

Ten minutes into the drive, his right eye swelled shut. He could feel his lip swelling. He kept his dome light off when he got in the four-car line to show his ID to the perimeter guard. he checked his phone and there was a text from Michael:

> "Hey, you left without saying goodbye. Is everything ok?"

Alex didn't know what to say. That he was remembering every other time he'd gotten hit in the face? How horrible it was going to be to deal with his Dad. He gritted his teeth and sent:

> Alex: "This is such a fucking shitty night." 
> 
> Michael: "No fucking shit"

Alex was three cars away from the guard.

> Alex: "Hey, Liz said she wants to take us antiquing in Albuquerque this weekend. You up?"
> 
> Michael: "😁hell yeah. Think I can get a couch the same color as my truck?"

Alex felt his heart beat. 

> Alex: "You know your truck and the tile in the bathroom are nearly the same color."
> 
> Michael: "😁Must have been subliminal."
> 
> Alex: "Nah, I really did pick it based off the color of the gulf."
> 
> Michael: "Well, maybe you liked the color of the Gulf because it reminded you of the color of my truck 😉"

Alex began to pull forward to the guard's gate:

> Alex: "I'm nearly inside. Game face on."
> 
> Alex: "I love you."

He deleted the thread.

He showed his ID to the perimeter guard, pulled up to base housing, and marched to the door where he knew his Dad was staying. 

He knocked on.

Alex thought about the son his father wanted: white and straight and obedient, identity entirely carved by him. He wrapped that Alex around his shoulders, pulling it up and over his face like a hoodie, slipping it down like a mask. When the door opened, it was firmly in place.

He watched his father's eyes widen, just a touch. He knew the bruise had to be rising around his eye, across his mouth. He stiffened his jaw and said: "I'm ready to bring Michael Geurin in."

His father stepped back, ushering him into the room. It smelled exactly like the house had, the day Alex had stumbled inside, fresh from the VA hospital.

The walls were covered in maps, posters, all the stuff from Project Shepherd that Alex had been sure he'd gotten away from him. There was a picture of Michael on the wall with a red target across his face. Inside, Alex was cringing. Wanting to run away. But his mask was firmly locked in place.

"Why the change of heart?" his father said, voice and face glacial.

"I misunderstood his intentions," Alex said, voice flat. "He has, psychic abilities I didn't understand. I realized that my emotions have not been my own, for a long time."

Jesse Manes cocked his head. It was earie, because it was a gesture Alex knew he made.

"How long?" he asked.

"We had a fight," he said. "Michael said he should never have planted the seed in me when I was 12."

His father's eyes flared with something like validation in them.

"So you know now, what I've always known."

Alex nodded.

His father pressed, "Your feelings, your perversion, it was a parasite. Eating away at you."

Alex nodded, trying to shame-faced. It wasn't hard; he always felt shame around his father, whether he wanted to or not. Right now, he felt shame about this entire situation, about what he was saying about Michael, about what he was going to have to say to get through this night.

"He came after me when I was too small to be able to fight back. But I can fight back now."

Inside he knew he was talking about his father, but that just ensured that the sincerity in his voice rang as clear as iron.

His father's face stilled: "Do you know where he is?"

Alex nodded, and the motion moved the swelling in his eye. He tapped at it with his fingers, trying to get the shape of the bruise, knowing the handspan bruise around his write would show. "He went back to his trailer in the fucking junkyard," he said.

"Fucking alien reprobate," his father said.

Alex nodded, his chest clenching as he pretended to agree. He glanced over at the wall, eye catching on a list of all of the places Alex and Michael had been. There were surveillance photos from the last week, taken with telephoto lenses. There was one -- he stepped closer, hand going to it. It was the front of his house. Him standing between Michael's legs as Michael sat in the back of the truck, forehead on Michael's shoulder.

"I don't know how I've been so wrong for so long," he said, "So misled."

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder and managed to almost hold-in the flinch. "Well, you know now. And we can make it right. Together."

Alex nodded, straightening up: "What's the plan, sir?"

He let his father turn him around. "We'll get an ice-pack on that. Can't go alien hunting if you can't see. I've got some peas in the freezer. Then I need you to tell me everything you know about Michael Guerin."

\--

Alex and his father worked through the night. Alex gave him information, bits and pieces, things that were true and he hoped to God Isobel was going to be able to elide from his mind. He had to hope that they would make this work, that he wasn't betraying Michael.

The swelling went down. They drank black coffee together, his father clapping him on the shoulder, smiling. It was probably the closest to bonding they'd ever had, and Alex felt nauseous every time his father touched him.

They agreed on a pre-dawn raid, figuring Michael would still be sleeping off his binge. Alex excused himself to go to the bathroom, texting the Signal group: 

> Alex: 5:15am

They went over the inventory in the back as a pre-raid check. There was some kind of knock-out gas specifically tailored for Michael's biology; he had no idea how he'd gotten something like that, with only 3 aliens in the world. Bullets, handcuffs, a gag. He surveyed it all. Trying to imagine what straight, white, passive Alex would say, how he would react. He felt a headache growing and drank another black coffee and pushed through.

They drove together in the Master Sergeant's truck. Alex was armed with an illegal side arm his father had kept, and his father had at least one gun. It was only a 20 minute drive from the base to the junkyard. The whole time, Alex kept the two plans in parallel in his mind.

His Dad would drop him off, up the road, where he'd parked a month before, the night he'd stumbled into the Airstream. Alex would walk back, draw Michael out. His Dad would tranq him from the side. They would load Michael up and drive him to a facility his father referred to as "Caulfield," apparently driving distance from Roswell. His father was still planning on making his departure flight; he told Alex he trusted him to oversee Michael's dissection, given all of the intel he'd managed to collect, he was thoroughly read-in at this point in his father's mind.

Alex kept-up a steady litany of how much he hated Michael, each earning an approving look from his father. With every hateful thing he said, he pressed another promise into the base of his heart, another kiss he would give Michael, another compliment. One touch for every horrible thing he said.

His father dropped him off at 5am, letting him get all the way out with his cane, his holster strapped to his thigh.

And that's where it all went to shit. 

His father slammed on the accelerator, door barely missing Alex, and Alex could barely more than shout before the truck was screaming forward, aimed straight at the belly of the Airstream.

"No!" Alex yelled.

He didn't have telekinesis, didn't have any way to stop it --

The truck stopped, right before it hit the Airstream, wheels spinning, lifted a half-inch off the ground.

Alex ran as fast as he could, watching his father shove his door open, haul-out a fully automatic M-16, and began hosing the Airstream with bullets. Alex didn't even hear the shots, his heart roaring in his ears.

Alex sighted down his barrel, the back of his father's head in his cross sights. Plan be damned. He was a dozen feet away; he wouldn't miss. Then he blinked. He saw the bullets plinking off the side of the Airstream, hitting an invisible wall and freezing in the air. His father paused, watching the last bullet hover in front of the shining, untouched Airstream. Then Michael coming out from behind it, his hands up, every bullet floating in the air in front of him. Michael was looking over his father's shoulder, cowboy hat on, his most wicked grin across his face.

"Hey there Alex," he said, loud enough Alex could hear it over the blood in his ears, "I see you ran to Daddy _._ "

His eyes were fiery, but just seeing him, alive and snarling, reminded Alex of the plan. He lowered the weapon, holding onto his trust for Michael by the skin of his teeth.

Master Sergeant Manes turned to look back at Alex, face grimacing.

"That was a pathetic show," his father hissed at Michael, weapon still pointed at him. "I know your kind is into theater shit, but that was shit. There was no way he was strong enough to shake that off overnight. You sent him to me. You meant to ambush me."

"You think I invited an alien hunting arsenal to my _house_." Michael said with withering sarcasm, "I may have come out of my pod at night, but it wasn't last night. Alex ran to you all on his little itty bitty own." Michael's eyes were cold, his hands held up in front of him, the Jeep and all those bullets still hovering above the ground.

Alex knew that Max, Isobel, Liz, and Kyle had to be somewhere around here. But all he could see was his father looking through the sight at Michael's smirking face. 

"Dad," he whispered, "Michael didn't send me. I came to you --"

"Shut up, you little faggot," he said coldly, "There's no fucking way you broke free of him. You're too weak. But I am going to take him back. He's never going to destroy another boy again."

"I'm not destroyed, Dad. I'm here. I'm fighting alongside you."

His father hissed: "That's just what he wants you to think."

"Is it?" Michael said. "After everything you did to me," he clenched his left hand, "And everything you did to Alex, if I felt _anything_ for him, do you think I would _ever_ let him be near you again?"

Alex felt his father pause. Blink. He didn't know for sure, but he thought, maybe that pause was Isobel working her way inside his mind.

Michael kept talking: "You beat him for years. You mangled his mind. You send him to war. You kept us apart for 10 years. Even if everything I did to Alex was to spite you, do you think I would ever let you touch him again? He's _mine._ "  


And the echo of that shivered through him. Alex wished, just for a moment, he had something like Isobel's powers, that he could look inside of Michael, get some kind of reassurance.

"No," the Master Sergeant said, voice quiet, "This is an act. It has to be an act. There's no way Alex came back to me. He _hates_ me."

And Alex felt his heart crack, felt himself saying the truth that he'd hoped to God he was never going to have to say aloud: "I don't hate you, Dad. I want you to love me. That's all I've ever wanted."

"How could I? The boy I knew, the boy I was going to raise to carry on our legacy, he died when he was 12. This thing," he gestured to Michael, "stole him from me."

Alex kept his voice calm, quiet, stepping carefully closer to his father. "That boy is me, Dad. You've got me back. I broke free. You made me strong, so I could." 

And he felt something click over in his Dad, another gear shifting.

"I don't believe you." he said, but his voice was wavering. 

Alex pulled out his sidearm. This is what they'd agreed on. This is what they were ready for.

"I'll prove it to you," he said, "Can you get what we need from Michael if he's dead?"

His father nodded, once, harsh. Alex strode forward, arm raising, looking Michael straight between the eyes. He was past his father now, blocking his shot of Michael with his own body. And there, there is was, just for a second, that flash, that understanding he'd been looking for in Michael's eyes.

He sighted down the barrel, aiming for Michael's heart, and said: "I know now I never loved you," and he pulled the trigger.

Michael's body jerked back, the Jeep dropping and a hundred bullets plinking to the ground around them like a leaden rain. His Stetson fell among them, crumbling in the metal and dirt. Alex knew that he'd stopped the bullet and thrown himself back, but his vision was entirely greyed-out with horror. He forced himself to be able to see, to aim, to put two more in the dirt beside Michael's head, his body jerking with them, so, so realistically.

He stood over him, looking down. Michael's eyes were closed. He didn't look like he was breathing. Alex turned to his father, trying to keep him from coming too close. He turned his back on Michael's body:

"Do you believe me now?"

His father looked him in the eyes, a shine of approval in them that Alex realized he felt no reaction to at all. No nausea, no yearning. Nothing.

His father laid down his rifle, came out from behind the door, and clasped his hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex didn't flinch.

His father nodded at him. "Good boy," he said. And then he -- froze. Eyes open and unseeing, breath slowing, rough hand dropping to his side.

Isobel stepped out from behind the Airstream, a look of narrow-eyed concentration on her face. She walked towards them, holding up her hand, palm first. She stepped close to the Master Sergeant and pressed her palm to Jesse Manes' forehead, perfectly manicured nails digging into his perfectly-regulation hair. She was muttering under her breath.

"You see Alex load Michael into the car. You take him to your base. You watch Alex dissect Michael. You film it together. It is everything your father told you it would be." Kyle and Liz were creeping-up behind him and Kyle injected something into his neck. Isobel hissed: "And now, you sleep."

Kyle caught him as he fell, Liz watching with a look of disgust on her face.

Max stepped out from behind a pile of junk, weapon in his hand: "And, scene."

Alex nearly tripped as he ran to Michael, sprawling beside him, hands on his chest, checking for wounds. Michael coughed, looking up at him before curling up around him, legs going around his hips, drawing him in tight. Alex's breath kicked up, and up, and up, all of the adrenaline, all of the panic, all of the sounds of gunshots, every touch his father had given him the last 12 hours, echoing and ricocheting through him as his body started to shake itself apart, banded in Michael's enclosing arms.

A tiny part of him knew the rest of the plan. Kyle and Isobel would pile Master Sergeant Manes back into his car, bring him back to his bunk. Isobel would Jedi-mind-trick their way through security. Kyle would keep him sedated until just before his flight the next day, Isobel continuing to work on his mind, making sure that the delusion was as firm and clear as possible.

He knew all of this and if he'd had to say a single thing in those moments with Michael on the ground, he couldn't have done it. All he could do was shudder and shake in Michael's arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. That was a lot. The next chapter is All The After Care, then we're back to antiquing, so thank you for staying in this with me and all of your amazing comments!


	14. Seven Weeks and Five Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the aftercare! So much! All the cuddles!

After his father's truck was long back on the highway, Michael and Max helped him get up, take the few steps into Michael's trailer. He was shivering and sweating at the same time. Max brought in a case of water and a big bag of trail mix, and carefully shut the door behind him. Michael helped him get his prosthetic off, then he pulled him into bed. Michael put his own back to the wall, drawing Alex up against him, letting his own body absorb the shocks of each crackling shudder, curled tightly around him, legs intertwined, hands gripping Alex's where he kept grasping for contact.

He kept murmuring: "It's over, you're safe. I'm here."

And it came out in little jagged pieces, everything Alex had said, everything he had planned with his father. Michael accepted it, taking each piece and laying it on the ground, where they each melted away. Alex said how much he hated how easy it was to be the version of him. How much he hated, how much he loved, the look of pride in his father's eyes. Even if it was fake. It was the most he'd ever seen. He hated how much he hated it, wanted it, being told he was good.

Michael said: "But you are good."

Alex shook his head. He couldn't be. He couldn't be good if his Dad preferred to think he had been dead since he was 12. Michael let is all wash over him. After about half an hour, he got Alex to sit-up, to drink some water. The caffeine shakes were coming and going from the all nighter with the coffee. Alex was usually one for one cup of coffee in the morning, not the 6 Jesse Manes had handed him.

He drank some water, ate more trail mix. Alex didn't have a lot to say after he pulled the major shards out of his heart. When his body got so stiff he couldn't move, and his leg started seizing, Michael asked and then pulled him up and into his lap. He sat-up in bed against the wall of the trailer, arranging Alex between his legs, back pressed to his front. He fished down under the bed and pulled out a cardboard box, fishing out a copy of _Ender's Shadow_. 

He started to read to him, voice quiet. He read to him about boys who'd been trained to kill and the boy who'd seen through it. Who had found a way protect everyone he loved with what he had and what he was. 

He read him the whole thing. Alex started drifting off when Michael floated a water bottle over to them and drank the whole thing. The trailer was small, not as hard to get around as his house had been before they'd fixed it. He half wanted to go and soak in the hot spring, but he didn't want to bring this fug, the smell of Jesse Manes into that space. He dipped his head onto Michael's shoulder and said:  
  
"I need to burn these clothes."

Michael smiled: "I've got more than enough of your clothes hanging around here somewhere. Freshly washed, even, since you can't fit six piles of laundry in an Airstream."

Alex felt the ghost of a smile move against his mouth, but it didn't come to the surface.

"The shower's not really accessible, there's not a seat or anything."

Alex nodded and Michael said: "We can go in together, keep our briefs on. I can hold you up if you're ok with it. It's not as romantic as the tub at your place, but at least we'll be clean."

Alex nodded, beginning to get up, turning to face Michael and he heard him hiss, hand going up to touch the bruises on Alex's face.

"Remind me to pop Max in the face; he didn't have to do this."

Alex shook his head: "I asked him to."

Michael ran his tongue along his teeth: "Well, you're both dumb. I just," He felt Michael's hand trace down his chest, hovering over his heart, his voice a low murmur. "I hate to see you hurt."

"The feeling's mutual," Alex said.

Alex stripped off his shirt, his pants. They shuffled their way in. Alex had never been inside of an RV shower. He was pretty sure he'd seen coffins with more space. There was nothing sexy about it. He wasn't sure if he was going to feel sexy for quite a bit of time.

Michael turned on the water holding the spray against the wall until it was warm. Alex kept a hand on his shoulder and Michael kept a hand braced on his hip, his back against the wall, about as stable as he was going to get under the circumstances. Michael handed him the shower head and Alex closed his eyes and aimed it towards his face, until all he could smell was the sun-heated water, the smell of the residue of Michael's soap in the shower.

He couldn't really hold the water and soap himself up at the same time. He murmured:  
  
"I think I'm going to need some help," and handed the shower head over.

He knew it wasn't a physical kind of clean he needed, but the smell of Michael's familiar soap, the feel of his own callouses on his own body, started to make him feel like he was his own shape again.

Michael kept his distance, holding him up as he soaped himself all over with the bar of soap. The bar was rough with ground pumice, designed more for getting engine grease out of callouses than producing skin. He liked the scratch of it, the feel like he was stripping off a couple more layers of the last day every time he rubbed it over himself. Michael's eyes were quiet and watchful, moving the shower head when Alex asked, but mostly just keeping him steady.

Alex tipped his forehead against Michael's bare shoulder and accepted the shower head to rinse himself. The sharp smell of the soap cut through and he felt himself take the first full breath he remembered taking since leaving Max's place.

His voice was quiet: "Do you think it'll work?" He whispered.

Michael ran his hand up his back, cradling the back of his neck.

"I trust Isobel," he said.

"I'll feel a lot better when he's on a transport out of here."

He felt Michael nod.

After they got dry and dressed and ate something, they climbed back into bed, Michael's back against the wall, arms around Alex. He took a breath and asked: "Tell me what's happening to Jesse Manes."

"Alex -- "Michael began, voice worried, but Alex interrupted.

"I need to close the box, to finish the story. I don't want the last image for him to be him standing there, hand on my shoulder, pride in his eyes. I want -- " he paused, "I want to know how the villain dies."

Michael's tone was dubious, but he tucked Alex back against him, hips flush as he sat back against the Airstream wall. There was a long line of skin touching, grounding Alex in every moment, running from the outside of his knees, up his sides, Michael's arms against his, Alex's back to Michael's warm front, Alex's cheek against Michael's scruffy cheek.

"Right now," he paused, thinking, "Right now he absolutely helpless. Drugged, watched over by people who hate him and are only caring for him out of love for you," his hand smoothed down Alex's arm, keeping him _here_ and not getting lost in his head.

"Tomorrow he'll get on a plane to take him someplace he has no pull, no sway, no blackmail power, no friends with favors, nothing but the weak force of his shitty personality. He'll never have any friends, anyone who loves him, every again, because without blood or threats, he has no way to make them. He'll be asked to retire in a few years, go to live in a senior living community in Florida. He picked Florida because he thinks its conservative, but he'll end-up in a community which welcomes queer folks. So every day when he goes to swim or play golf, he'll be reminded of the full, love-filled lives that people like us can have."

Michael paused, before going on: "He'll think about today a lot. He'll feel pride about it, satisfied," Michael's voice was low with disgust, but he kept going. "He'll know he can never contact you again, that he's being watched by powerful alien sympathizers in the Pentagon who are trying to figure out who is continuing his work. He'll keep his legacy safe by staying as far away from you, and from Roswell, as he can get."

"'Powerful alien sympathizers'?" Alex asked.

Michael chuckled darkly. "Did you hear the one about the pediatrician who figured out the magic formula to get anti-vaxxers to accept vaccine schedules?"

Alex shook his head.

"The doctor hears from her nurse that a Mom is refusing to vaccinate her kids. She walks into the exam room and patiently listens to the Mom's explanation, which is pretty shitty, anti-autistic, historically-inaccurate -- you know. That whole thing. Then she leans in, voice quiet, and says," Michael paused for dramatic effect until Alex flapped his hand for him to go _on_ : "She says: 'You know, there's a coordinated Chinese and Russian propaganda campaign to weaken America's health by undermining access to vaccinations, by endangering the children of the nation.'"

Alex huffed a laugh, feeling the first smile of the day working its way across his face. He buried it in Michael's warm arm.

"The mother agreed to a modified vaccination schedule. And that's the trick, really, that we're using on Jesse Manes," he said, voice sobering, "Conspiracy theorists have a massive vulnerability, because they are always prepared to believe a bigger conspiracy. Isobel is convincing Jesse Manes that there are aliens in leadership at the Pentagon and the only way to protect Project Shepherd is to spend the rest of his life laying low and keeping you out of their sight."

"But back to what will happen to him. He'll retire, but he won't live that long to enjoy it, since he won't have anything to hate, anyone to drive him to keep living. He'll pass, get cremated, get buried in Florida because he, in fact, never did anything to qualify him for Arlington. The only good thing he ever did was to make sure you existed in the world, Alex. You are all his good. You'll get a letter in the mail telling you it happened. And then he'll be gone."

Alex felt -- good. God help him, but the moment he'd pulled the trigger, he'd felt something snap, a permanent fraying of Jesse Manes' hold on him. The last few hours had felt like the hangover of the previous 28 years, but when he tried to figure out if he should feel bad for condemning Jesse Manes to a shitty life, he -- didn't. He felt vindicated. He felt like some kind of justice was being done. Not the perfect, public justice Max and Sheriff Valenti worked for, but a kind of lasting justice that they could all live with.

"And what about us?" He asked, a wave of sleepiness moving over him, slowing and softening his voice. 

Michael paused:  "I'm not Maria, Alex, I can't see the future."

Alex yawned, snuggling his head down further into Michael's shoulder. "Maria," he said, "I think we should read Maria in. She's smart and pretty and nice. And," he yawned again, "I think we counted wrong."

"Hmm?" Michael said, hand smoothing gently down Alex's arm, pressure warm and comforting.

"The captain doesn't usually get a seat at console on a bridge. So it's not 6 people needed to fly the ship, but seven." His voice was nearly a mumble as sleep dragged him under: "Captain, comms, engineer, medical, helm, security, and XO."

\--

Around dinner time, Max came by with a pizza. He coaxed them out to sit on the lawn chairs in front of the Airstream, Alex sitting comfortably between Michael's legs. Michael had built-up a fire, using the clothes Alex had worn to the base as tinder. He told them Isobel and Kyle were still at the base. At Michael's glare, he cleared his throat and said:   
  
"I know why we agreed to it, but Alex, I really, really am sorry about hitting you."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Since I'm going into work tomorrow, is there anyway you can take care of the shiner without leaving some kind of sparkly body print?"

Max closed his eyes: "The handprint usually shows up, but I can put it someplace that won't be noticed."

Alex rolled-up his sleeve until his shoulder was bared: "It's fine there."

Max pressed his hand there and then paused. "You'll be able to feel what I feel, for a couple days, a week."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "So you're telling me, for the first time in my natural life, I'm going to be crushing on a girl?"  
  
Michael stiffened behind him, but Alex laughed: "I'll get to experience the bisexual side of life for a few days. It'll be educational."

Michael relaxed and snickered, burying his face in Alex's neck.

Max asked: "Are you ready?"

Alex nodded. Max pressed his broad palm to Alex's shoulder and he closed his eyes, feeling them tap-tap-tapping inside of him. Healing the swelling, healing the ruptured blood vessels, he felt the split in his lip heal, he ran his tongue over it, tasting copper but feeling nothing under it.

Max pulled away, breathing hard. Alex narrowed his eyes: "Are you ok?"

Max nodded, looking quite a few Pantone shades paler than his usually pale self. "I'm ok," he said.

Alex tilted his head onto Michael's shoulder. Michael looked over at Max:

"Have you tried working with Liz, to feed your powers?"  
  
"I don't really know how," Max said.

"You should try," Michael said, "Whether you go up in the ship with us or not, your powers are like a muscle, there's no use in making it atrophy."

"I've never been as into our heritage as you are."

Alex could hear the wry smile in Michael's voice. "Our heritage is in us, whether you're into it or not. And honestly, I think you'd get something out of it."

Max looked doubtful, but he didn't argue.

\--

Alex stayed the night in Michael's Airstream, bodies wrapped around each other, Michael's chest to Alex's back, biceps under his head, breathing in synch. Alex had no idea if it was comfortable for him or not, but there was something in them that needed to touch more than they needed easy sleep.

When his alarm went off, Alex got up and looked down and back. Michael was flopped over on his side, face soft as it had been in the toolshed. As gentle as he could make his fingers, Alex brushed a curl back from Michael's face, then leaned down to press a kiss to the side of his lips. Michael turned, lips seeking. Alex kissed him, sharing their morning breath, melting into the feeling of him.

"You don't have to go to work," Michael mumbled.

"I do have to go to work," Alex said grudgingly.

"Uh _uh_ ," Michael muttered, eyes still closed, "I canceled work."

Alex sat on the edge of the bed. "Yeah? You canceled work? For me or for everyone?"

Michael flung out a dramatic hand: "For the entire US military! All canceled! No work!"

Alex chuckled: "You want some coffee?"

Michael nodded and Alex got-up again, made the coffee with Michael's mysteriously nice coffee machine, whose coral color indicated it was perhaps Isobel's doing.

He remembered that he'd left his truck on the base a million years and 25 hours ago. He closed his eyes: "I think I'm going to need a ride from you."

Michael shook his head and Alex huffed: "Michael, I have to go to work --"

Michael held-up his phone. On it was a text from Kyle:

> Kyle Valenti: It took some do-si-do-ing, and no small amount of Klingon mind tricks, but we managed to get your truck back out. We won't let him out of our sight until he's on his transport. Your truck is outside by the trailer.

Alex blanched at the "Klingon mind tricks" but decided to save that for later as he felt a knot in his stomach release. "Is this what having a family is like? People who try to figure out what you need and help you get it?"

Michael stood, arms going around his waist: "I wouldn't know. This is all new to me too."

He dipped his head down, warm breath against Michael's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"You have time for breakfast?"  
  
"Sure," he said. He had about an hour, since the junkyard was closer to the base than his house.

Michael gently suggested that Alex sit outside in the lawn chair while he got some food ready. Alex figured he needed a few minutes to himself; the tension had been hard on them both.

He fiddled with his phone, mapping out different routes to Albuquerque, optimizing for views or highways vs county roads, when the sound of a truck drew his eyes to the entrance.

It was SheriffValenti, cruising around the corner. She pulled herself out of the car, slamming the door, and walking around.

"I pulled a lot of strings to get that order of protection for you," she said without preamble.

Alex sat back, looking at her hard. "I was grateful for it," he said, mind racing.

"I heard from Max this morning you don't want it anymore and you were here," and Alex realized that this was the flip side of family -- sometimes they did what you needed them to do without telling you. He should have realized -- if the story in Jesse Manes's mind was that he and Alex were on the same side, then he couldn't have an order of protection anymore. He didn't want to lie to Sheriff Valenti. He really wished he'd had more than one cup of coffee.

He paused, running his hand through his hair: "Look --"

"I know you went to see him on the base. One of the guys told me. I'd asked them to keep an eye out for you. Alex -- I know he's had you under his thumb his whole life. But he's not good for you."

"Look, I know, Sheriff Valenti --"

She sat down: "Alex, I know it's hard to leave these situations. I _know_ it--"

Alex held up his hand. "He wasn't going to go to jail, right?"

She shook her head: "Without physical evidence, and with the statute of limitations, probably not."

"So," he said, "Since Monday, I figured out a way to convince him that the things he hated about me weren't true. Max and everyone helped. He's heading out and never planning on coming back. He's out of our hair for good."

She frowned: "Alex, there's nothing wrong with you."

Alex sat-up straight: "I know that. But we convinced him," he couldn't think of a way to say it, "I lied, I lied right through my teeth. I told him I was straight, I told him Michael was a predator --"

"Michael?" she said, frowning. Then she looked around, seeming to realize where she was, her eyes widening: "You and _Guerin_?"

She wiggled her hand: "Isn't he a little --"

Alex snapped: "Michael is the best man I've ever known. I know he's had his problems, and you've only seen those parts of him. But I promise, he's good to me and I'm good for him."  
  
Sheriff Valenti sat back a little bit, looking chastised: "You know your own business."

"I do." He said, then he kept going: "Anyway, so, Jesse Manes has it all wrapped-up in his head that Michael was a predator, which he's _not_ \--"

"I know," the Sheriff said, "He'd fuck anything that walked, but only if they wanted it."

Alex closed his eyes: "I didn't need to know that."

The Sheriff grumbled: "Well, you try pealing him off the floor of the Wild Pony the last 10 years."

Alex rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. "So, my father assumed Michael was a predator because he's a homophobic bigot. He's thought that ever since he caught Michael and I together in  _high school_. So I told him that's what happened. We had a whole-on heart to heart. And he's heading out today. That had been what had been tying him here, I guess. That need to be right about that."

"Manes men always need to be right," she said, "They need soldiers who follow their rules."

Then the Sheriff frowned a little bit. "That must have been one hell of an acting job you did. The guard on perimeter duty told me he thought your face was bruised-up when you came in."

"The wonders of make-up," he said, then he paused, since it had been bothering him since last night: "You know that's not common, right?"  
  
She tilted her head: "What, abuse victims getting hit in the face? Of course it is. I do the domestic violence training for the base, tell them to look out for visible bruising. They know to drop me a line if someone shows up."  


"You train them to look for _shiners_?"

The Sheriff nodded.

Alex nearly rolled his eyes: "Look, not for nothing and this is probably a topic for another day, but I think you need another DV training, because most abusers don't leave bruises on the face. In a decade of getting hit, I almost never went to school with a shiner. He'd nearly always only hit places it won't show. Look," he said, pulling out his phone, "I can hook you up with the local DV shelter, since I do self-defense classes for them. They can do another training for you, because if you're telling people to look for shiners, then you're missing-out on a whole bunch of clues."

Sheriff Valenti crossed her arms: "I've been doing this for a long time, kid."

Alex held back a sigh: "Look, I'm not trying to tell you your business. But I've spent a lifetime dealing with this and every weekend I'm working with kids who are still dealing with it."

"What do you mean?" She asked, voice sharp.

He explained about the self-defense class.

She paused: "I don't have jurisdiction on the rez, but," she rolled her shoulders back, "Do you think maybe sometime I could come by, give them my cards, make sure they know that --- " She paused, "I don't want it to be the way it was, with Jim. Kids getting hurt and not knowing if they can come to me. I can't fix everything and I don't know everything," she swallowed, "If we can stop some of these cycles of violence, we can make the whole town safer."

Alex nodded: "There's a really good batterers school model I saw on some of the bases. It's 52 weeks, it sort of retrains abusers to not be shitty. It has a really solid success rate. Way better than the usual 6-months incarceration in the rare cases they ever get convicted."

She rubbed her hands. "Look," she said, "I don't know what you did with your Dad, because I don't think you're being straight --" a nd Alex suppressed a grin as she stumbled, " -- being _honest_ with me. But if you've got ways I can do a better job protecting some of the folks who are getting hurt in this town, then we can talk about it. We can probably rustle-up some consultant money for you, if it helps --"

Alex shook his head: "I don't want to be paid, but I am _certain_ the DV shelter could use a grant. They could always use a grant."

She smiled: "You're a good kid, Alex. A lot of kids who went through what you went through, they just wrap around themselves, trying to stay safe, trying to protect themselves from everything."

He nodded, lip going between his teeth. 

She continued: "It's rare, but sometimes those kind of kids try and save everyone," her voice was flat, "Both are extremes. Neither are good."

Alex's smile was wan: "Yeah, I know it's not healthy,"

"But you're not going to stop trying to save everyone?"  
  
"No, ma'am."

She sighed, tightening her ponytail. "Alright, I'll give you a call tomorrow, see if you can get me some of that information. And I'm serious, if your kids are open to it, I can go by you class, Max can, Cam can. Cam has some pretty cool moves she learned when she was in the military. I know she thinks I don't like her because of it, but --" she paused, "The military does a lot of damage to people. I've seen it here my whole life. I just worry when I meet someone that they're going to bring a kind of violence -- it's not our job to cause violence. It's our job to stop it."

"I know," Alex said.

"Anyway," she said, rubbing her arms. "The end of the day is that you want me to pull the protection order request."

Alex nodded. 

"And you're sure," she said, "Because I can get it in his record --"

"I'm sure. I'm sorry for the trouble Sheriff Valenti."

She stood, dusting the back of her pants: "It's trouble I should have gone to a long time ago." She looked at the trailer: "You tell Michael Guerin if he can stay out of my drunk tank for 6 months, I will personally buy him the nicest bottle of bourbon $25 can buy."

Alex grimaced: "I'm not that's the right kind of incentive."

Sheriff Valenti tilted her head, a smile that made her look 20 years younger flitting across her face: "You may know Michael's heart, but I am well aquatinted with his liver. You tell him that. See what he says,"

She headed back to her cruiser and Alex wandered back up the steps, finding Michael suspiciously-focused on the eggs he was cooking.

"Listening in?" he asked.

Michael nodded.

"Anything to add?"

Michael twisted his lips, shaking his head. "You know I've been the town drunk." he said, voice careful.

"It doesn't seem to have been a problem lately."

"That doesn't meant it's not going to be a problem again."

"Yeah, I know. It's not that love fixes everything, but sometimes the stuff we have to self-medicate about, sometimes it fades when we have people watching out for us."

Michael nodded, beginning to plate the eggs.

"We'll keep and eye on it. You can do a 12 step or outpatient rehab or something if you end up needing it."

"I don't think I do right now, but if that's what it takes, then yeah. I'll do it."

Alex kissed his cheek and dug into his eggs: "Anyway, how many more weeks do we have?" 

"Seven weeks, four days, 17 hours," Michael said, a small smile playing across his lips.

Alex slid his hand down his arm, dropping a kiss onto his shoulder.

"Let's make them count."


	15. Seven Weeks and One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled fluff!

Alex Manes was not sure he had ever been more grateful for Liz Ortecho than about 10 minutes into their first antique shop. He and Michael had walked in, full of their respective airman and cowboy swagger, ready to pick out a couch and walk back out again.

But then they'd seen the clocks.

And the dolls.

And the farming implements.

Then they'd seen the four different couches in this one rambling shop, each arrayed with a thick heap of different kinds of blankets, from different kinds of tribes, with different ranges of authenticity.

Then they'd seen the prices.

As it stood, Alex Manes and Michael Guerin had both tucked their arms around their torsos, clicked their heels together, and stood, unmoving, staring, as Liz flitted around the room and asked them what they liked as the antique radio played NPR and the proprietor read the paper. They were now deep into monosyllabism and Alex, for one, was not sure they would ever emerge.

But Alex had faced down much bigger challenges, and so when Liz was kneeling down, checking the springs of one of the couches, he leaned over to Michael and whispered: "I've heard Ikea has couches."

Michael's wide and panicked eyes indicated that perhaps he, too, had not been fully prepared for this experience.

Michael took a breath and leaned over to nudge Alex in the shoulder: "It's your house, but, if you get something that's old, that's already survived one lifetime in good condition, in all likelihood it's going to survive another."

Alex frowned: "When'd you get so smart?"

A flash of affection ran across Michael's face, and he said in a low undertone beneath the quiet chatter of the radio, "I guess I must have hatched that way."

Alex covered his mouth with a fist, pretending to cough. Liz looked over her shoulder, asking Alex: "Do you have that color pallet that Isobel sent you?"

He got ready to text it to her and then he shook his head. He started a new Signal group titled: "Femme Skills are Real Skills" with him, Michael, Isobel, and Liz, and sent it to the group.

Michael's phone was typically silent, but Liz's made a funny R2-D2 noise before she slapped it quiet.

She began to compare the palette with different rugs as Michael and Alex wandered cautiously through the teetering piles of antiques.

After a few minutes, Liz waltzed over and tugged Michael's arm. "Hey, can you help me figure out if this couch is structurally-sound or not?" 

It happened fast, but Alex was looking in Michael's eyes, so he got to see it. He got the see the moment Michael eased into himself again, the flip, when morning went from uncomfortable and overwhelming to something Michael understood, just a junkyard with higher rent, and his engineering mind took over. Moments later, he was on his knees helping Liz lift the couch, seeing if the creaking was the springs or the frame or something else entirely.

Alex meandered through the hallways of what must have been a half-dozen businesses when the building was first designed, before being gutted and resold as antique space. He worked his way to the back, finding a heavy table stacked with rust-streaked crate boxes. The three of them were the only ones there that morning, the season not being right for tourists. He was hovering over a box that looked like a chaotic bundle of metal when he heard someone approaching. He froze, realizing that he was trapped at the end of the hallway. Walls had once been hung temporarily to make sort-of rooms, but after decades of clutter, it was more of a warren than a show room. 

The footsteps were getting closer and he was beginning to turn when he recognized them. He felt Michael pause behind him before hooking his chin over his shoulder, hands steadying on his hips.

"Looking for some picture frames?" He asked. And just like that, the rats-nest of metal resolved like a de-pixelating picture into a few dozen frames, tossed and jumbled in a box, but otherwise in good condition.

"Yeah," he said, thinking of the hole in the wall under his bed. "Maybe we could make them into like a big square in the hallway? With that selfie of us in your trailer in the middle?"

Michael pressed himself closer, hugging Alex from behind, scruff tickling his ear. Alex turned his head, pressing a kiss to Michael's cheek. Michael's hands turned him around and oh, he went with him, pressing into him as Michael kissed him, long and deep. Alex made a soft sound as he was backed-up into the table, bracing his hand against it to get more leverage to kiss back. Michael reached for his hip to help him keep his balance. 

It was dusty and warm and he could smell the sweat from Michael's body, could feel it when he pressed his hands to the small of his back, clenching his fists to stop himself from dragging Michael's shirt from his pants and getting some _skin_. The smell of him -- he'd missed that smell. He'd slept in his house alone the past two nights, the danger from the Master Sergeant passed and both of them needing to return to some kind of routine.

But he missed the smell of Michael in the sheets after doing laundry. It swept over him like a wave in the shallow gulf, a yearning to fill their home with their shared things, memories, smells, sounds, friends. 

There was the sound of footsteps approaching and they both pulled away. Alex couldn't help but make small sound at the movement, feeling irrationally bereft, and the sound tugged Michael back to him, diving in mouth on his, tongue moving so sweetly against his that Alex sagged against him.

Liz came around the corner before they could disengage themselves a second time and coughed loudly:

"You all ready to head out?"

Alex pulled back, gesturing a little wildly to the box of frames: "You think these will be here after lunch or should we carry them to the truck?"

Liz looked at them, a smirk across her face: "These have probably been here longer than we've been alive, but the truck's just around the corner, so no harm in getting them now."

He nodded and Michael hoisted them up on his shoulder. Alex was perfectly positioned to see the easy slide of muscles under his henley and it took a cough from Liz to get him back to reality again. She shared a knowing grin and they headed to the front register, ready to pay in cash.

Michael and Alex figured out a rhythm by the third store of four. They each took a half of the store, taking photos of things they thought they might like, and sending them to the group text. Liz ping-ponged between them, showing her knack for findinginteresting things tucked under, behind, or inside of other things. Isobel provided color commentary on the thread as they went.

At the next antique shop, Alex's eyes were immediately caught by a stack of wrought-iron bed frames against the far wall, worked in whorls and curls like wisteria and roses, forming a thick and sturdy frame, currently in pieces but holding in its very shape what it was and might be again.

He drifted over, vaguely listening-in as Michael and Liz debated the comparative structural stability of a table with folding leaves. He looked at the wrought iron, eyes tracing the shape. He thought about what he'd told Michael while they were playing Chicken at the hot spring, about power exchange. He thought about the kind of bed that could hold a person to it. What it would be like to be held to a bed like that. He traced a hand over it, gut clenching.

After a moment, he realized it was not one, but several bed frames. He counted pieces -- there were three. He took a few photos and wandered to the other side of the shop.

It was slow going. He eased his cane past a massive stack of frankly garish Elvis on black velvet paintings, and ending-up stepping on a stack of clearly knock-off polyester "Navajo" rugs to get to a black wood table in the back corner.

It was covered in lamps and figurines, but as he lit his phone up to see better, he caught a shimmer. He braced himself on the edge of the table and reached back, lifting up a heavy box, about the size of a breadbox. It was made of rough cedar wood, unsealed so the musky-spicy smell of it rose up around him. But it wasn't the wood that caught his eye -- it was the dozen of turquoise inlays, all shaped like tears except the narrow end was hooked. They were laid around, between, across, and through carvings of roses, pressed deep into the wood. The slick stone contrasted deliciously with the roughness of the carvings, and he found himself tracing and retracing the edges of the inlay, getting his fingernail in between one part where the wood had pulled away, calloused finger pads smoothing and catching alternately across the box. He couldn't remember where he'd seen that shape before, but he knew he --

Liz called out for him and he called back. He heard her make her way over. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him and looked at the box in his hands.  


"I love paisley," she said, voice soft in the quiet heat of the store.

"I thought paisley was a pattern?" He said.

Liz shook her head: "It's the name of a British pattern, but before that, it's one of the oldest shapes in human design." She held up a fist, pinky-side towards him, and traced the shape -- the meat of her palm, up to the thin hook of her finger. Then she stamped it down on the table, and he imagined the shape staying on the hard wood when she lifted it off.  
  
"Most cultures use the shape at some point. It's usually a feminine shape, the shape of the side of a woman's hand." She traced her finger over the carvings before holding her hands out for the box.

"I think my Mom wore it," Alex said, trying to remember, "I think it was one of her shirts she liked to wear to church."

He could see it -- the pale blue, the white paisleys, the feel of it against his face as she rocked him. He over at Liz; there was a quiet knowing in her expression he wrapped around himself, remembering he and Michael weren't the only ones missing mothers.

She didn't say anything but opened the box. The smell of cedar rose up around them. "This would be good for keeping anything you don't want bugs to get into -- bugs don't like cedar."

She flipped it over, pointing to a brand in the bottom: "See the stamp here? It's the artist's mark. I'm not super-familiar with woodworking, but, if you look here -- " she pointed at one of the nails, it didn't have square top, but a round top, driving deeply into the wood, "That means it was probably made in the 1800s, before mass-manufacturing of nails made it to the Southwest." She smiled: "It makes you wonder what kind of frontier lady or gentleman used it; kept hair things or wedding vows or something else in there."

The label said it was $50. Alex did a quick rundown of where they were with their budget -- he'd initially planned to spend $250. When he'd seen the prices in the first shop and the kind of things they could buy, he'd adjusted it up to $1000. That included the motel -- Michael had insisted that they stay overnight and had found them a cheap, nice hotel near the antique shops where they could stay. When Alex had asked why he didn't just want to head home, he'd said:

"I just like the tiny soaps, ok? I used to get them at the shelter and I'd like to see them in their native habitat once in a while."

Alex had hugged him, and Michael pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

Alex's budget had gotten a lot more wiggle room than usual, what with him and Michael cooking more, and him ordering a lot less take-out. He tucked it under his arm, figuring he could get it, and maneuvered his way to the front. Since putting the handrails in his house, he'd started to notice just how many spaces would be hard to get around if he was ever in a wheel chair. Creaky antique shops were definitely on the list.

They gathered Michael on their way to the counter. He'd been kneeling, examining the dove-tailed joints of a matched set of end-tables, which he explained to Alex in great detail as they waited in line to buy the box.

After a few hours, they headed to for lunch, finding a quiet Chinese place. Michael and Alex took one side of the red leather booth, sitting so their shoulders were touching, as Liz took the other.

They ordered: Liz liked chow main, Alex got a double order of potstickers, and Michael ordered some pork fried rice.

"So, on the drive over, you said you wanted to focus on the living room, Alex," Liz started, something of Max's interrogation style coming through. "Now you've seen the options, what are you thinking?"

Alex glanced over at Michael, then flipped over his phone, scrolling to a picture of a group of disassembled wrought-iron bed frames, the white paint flaking off of them. 

"It looked like there were two doubles and a queen -- with a mattress from one of those online places and some slats, I could do up my room and my brother's old rooms, turn them into guest rooms." He flipped to another photo: "I thought the rugs you found were good, and I think they'd be great on the living room walls. And this --" He flipped to a photo of one of the couches in the second antique shop. It was leather, dyed a soft turquoise that was nearly a perfect match for Michael's truck. "And I think this would be great in the living room."

Liz smiled: "Those are great pieces. Michael, did you see things you liked?"  


Michael spun Alex's phone around, flipping to another photo: "Well, I was the one who found the couch, so I'll take credit for that one. And I think these -- " he showed a photo of a matched set of arts and crafts end tables, surfaces scratched but sturdy-looking, "would go great in the living room with a little love."

Michael turned to Alex and nudged him in the shoulder. "What color do you think we should repaint the bed frames?" Then he stifled a laugh in Alex's shoulder: "Please don't say black."

Liz cocked her head until Alex explained: "I made some, ah, choices about decor in high school." Turning back to Michael: "No, I was thinking something like white."

"That's fine then," Michael said, "though we could also do a yellow like in the living room."

They took turns driving on the phone, swapping ideas and sketching layouts on the white paper placemat. Once they were through with the food, Liz stood, excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Michael's arm had crept-up around Alex during lunch and now his fingers are strumming over Alex's shoulder. He was warm and close and solid beside Alex and part of him just wanted to tip over into his lap and take a nap, fellow patrons be damned. Instead, Alex slipped his hand under the table and slid it down Michael's thigh to his knee, scratching his fingers lightly against the denim.

"So," Michael asked, seemingly having significantly more trouble forming words than he had moments before, "Do you like the bed frame?"

Michael's thumb smoothed down square over the t-seam on the curve of Alex's shoulder. Alex felt his gut clench at the contrast between the rough thread and the smooth pressure of Michael's hand.   


"Uhhm," Alex said, "yes."

Michael hummed and Alex found himself gripping his knee.

"It looked very sturdy," he said, "I was thinking --"

"Hey guys!" Liz said, looking between the two of them. "Ready to get back out there? I covered the bill since you guys are covering gas and we're splitting the motel."

Alex nodded, feeling the cold as Michael shifted his arm away from his shoulders. 

As he stood, he said: "So, I think we like the couch at place number four. And we saw some other furniture that we liked at the second store."

Liz nodded. "I saw some rugs buried at the back of the fourth, so let's start at the second shop and work our way back, huh?"  


They nodded, getting up and heading back out into the midday sun.

Wrought-iron had been out of fashion for long enough that there was a significant discount on the bed frames. Enough that Alex almost felt bad taking it; but not enough to stop him. They were firmly within their modified budget as they moved through the stores, paying in cash as often as possible as it often brought a discount. They got a couple of thick red-and-black rugs that Liz said were authentic. He had no idea how to tell; she said it was something about the materials and the designs.

Liz left to pull the truck around as Michael and Alex stood outside of the first shop, since the proprietor refused their help moving the bed frames to the back loading dock.

"My son's got to work for his paycheck," she'd said, rousting the teenager from behind his phone and getting him to help her carry them out.

Michael and Alex leaned against the side of the building, watching the flow of people. The dinner crowd would start in a few hours, heading for the nightlife district a few blocks over.

Michael was on his phone at dinner, distracting Alex when he tried to see it. He insisted that they head back to the hotel right after.

In the bright light of the motel lobby, Liz said she had some reading she wanted to catch-up on, before giving them both a hug. As she pulled away, she said: "Thanks for asking me to come with you. It's nice to get out of town sometimes."

"Well, we would have been lost without you."

Liz shook her head: "I'm pretty sure you could have Facetimed Isobel and she would have given you the same advice. You might have ended-up with a more aggressive coral theme, but that's about it."

"Nope, you are our savior. I'm not going to be dissuaded by your false humility." She shook grinned and headed to her room.

They headed up to their room, put their bags on the bed. Alex had half-expected Michael to flop right down on the bed, or take a shower, or fondle the tiny soaps. Instead he pulled out his phone, pressed it open, and held it out, saying: "You absolutely don't have to --"

Alex squared his shoulders in an instinctual response to a challenge. He looked at the screen and saw a dark background and a bright logo, but Michael was waving it away before he could read it --

"I don;'t have to what?"

Michael glanced down at the screen. "There's an open house at a," he paused, "a club today. It has good reviews, it has dancing on the first floor, and," if Alex didn't know any better, he could have sworn Michael was blushing, "there's demonstrations, like a workshop? In the basement tonight."

"What kind of club has workshops?" Alex asked.

Michael held the phone out to him again and Alex captured his hand in this two, trying to hold it still long enough for him to read. All around the edge of the screen were tiny gifs of rainbow flags. There were pictures of men, women, and non-binary folks in leather, pictures of complex knots, different kinds of toys. Alex felt his face heat and his palms begin to sweat, heart kicking up a notch.

Michael kept chattering: "On the website they say there's a couples discount, and it's only $20. I know the hotel put us over budget, but I think --"

"Is this why you wanted to stay overnight? Not the tiny soaps?"

Michael glanced at the bathroom and nodded.

"Why didn't you just say that?" Alex asked, slightly amused.

Michael scrubbed his hand over his face: "I didn't want you to freak out, right? And with the hotel, we can just say in and watch TV; it gives you a clean out." He shrugged, "I came up here a couple of times. Not to the workshops, since that wasn't open then. But just to dance it out." He rubbed his hand over his face again. "You know how we're, like, the only queer folks we know."

Alex nodded. Michael paused: "Well, Isobel might be, but she's never come out, so I don't want to assume. And you hear rumors about people, but in our social group, we're the only out ones. But, you walk into a space like that, and sure, these clubs can be unsafe and shitty, but this one _isn't_. It takes a weight off your shoulders, not being the only one. You can disappear into a crowd of other queers."

"I thought guys were really handsy in gay clubs?" Alex asked, remembering all the jokes he'd heard in high school, on bases.

"Sometimes," Michael said slowly, "But there's a lot more gay cowboys out there than you'd think, and they tend to have a healthy respect for other people's personal space. Unless you make it super clear you're looking for somebody to touch you."

"I'm not," Alex said, "Unless it's you."

Michael smiled, stepping into him, hand going to his side. 

His voice was low: "Look, we can be ourselves by ourselves any time. But sometimes it's nice to be ourselves in the company of other folks who understand." He took a breath, "In spaces like this, you don't feel like they're trying to be cool, they just actually are cool with you as you are."

Alex nodded and looked down at himself, his work jeans and plaid shirt."I"m not sure I'm dressed for a club."

Michael laughed and Alex felt the motion against his own body. "What, didn't pack your eyeliner or septum piercing to go antiquing?"

"Yeah, my Dad raided my room and tossed them out when I was at BMT."

Michael nodded: "It's an open house. Come as you are. We won't be the nicest dressed but we probably won't be the worst either." Michael hummed, "I danced with a man there who had honest-to-God hay in his hair once. I think maybe his horse got him when he wasn't looking and he didn't bother to run a comb through his hair before coming in from work? So, yeah, it's not going to be a thing."

Alex chuckled, a frisson of jealousy working its way around them. he pushed it down. He wasn't going to be jealous of someone he'd never met, and who Michael obviously was not with.

He looked at his phone, tapping the name of the club into the maps app.

"Looks like it's about a 10 minute walk," he said and Michael smiled.

"Let me run a comb through my hair -- but it's only if you want to, right?"  
  
Alex's hands found their place on Michael's hips, thumbs sweeping over where he could feel the ridges of his hip bones. Michael leaned into him with a quiet sound.

"I think it's really sweet that you looked this up for me. And it's not something I would have done on my own, but honestly, neither is having a functional house. Or a hot spring. Or any of the unbelievably kind things you've done for me."

Michael leaned his head forward against Alex's: "I did it for _us_ ,"

Alex smiled, "I just," he paused, "I know we're supposed to be better at talking, so I wanted to say that I really appreciate you for who you are and also for the ways in which you're working to build a home with me."

Michael's voice was a low, almost fragile sounding: "And if this time next year we're half-way to Jupiter, do you think you'll regret doing all of this?"

Alex slid his hands up Michael's sides, over his collarbone to cradle his jaw: "I moved every 2 years for the last 10 years. I've never had so much as a safety deposit box. If we go away and we're gone forever, then I want the house we leave for someone else to show something of who we were. And if we go away and come back, I want someplace to come back to."

Michael kissed him, and it wasn't a kiss with the heat they'd had in the antique shop. It was something quieter, more welcoming, more grateful. 

Then he pulled away to rummage in his bag for a comb. Alex was conflicted -- he loved Michael's curls in his eyes and also loved _seeing_ Michael's eyes. He contented himself with the knowledge that he really pretty much liked Michael anyway he was.

Michael was leaning over the sink, looking at his hair in the over lit bathroom mirror. He glanced back through the mirror to smirk at Alex: "Too bad we didn't pack any gel or we could give you those Brendon Urie spikes again,"

"Ugh," Alex said, sidling up behind him and stealing the comb to put his hair into some better kind of order. Michael's smile got a little sneakier: "After you're out, you can dress however you want, right?"  
  
Alex nudged his shoulder, "I'm probably not going to go full goth again."  
  
"Yeah, but if you want to, you could."

"I'm not even sure where to shop for stuff like that anymore."

Michael smiled at him in the mirror. "We can figure it out together -- but the workshop starts in about 20 minutes, so we'd better get going."

They headed out into the dry-hot dark, the stars watching their progress towards the neon lights of the club.


	16. Seven Weeks and One Day and 4 Hours

They had spent about as much time walking as they spent in line, the night air breezy and hot, the stars fading behind the fluorescents street lights. An incredibly beefy man had waved them into the club after taking Alex's $20 and giving them a ticket and directions to the basement stairs.

The club was dark and ear-splittingly loud when they walked in, but Michael's hand was warm and firm at the base of Alex's back as they edged around the crowd and towards the stairs. Alex was clocking exits, clenching his fists, looking for weapons amongst the mass of bodies. He bit his tongue when he realized what he was doing. The overwhelming sound and press of bodies was reminding him of things he was pretty sure he was supposed to have found a way to process but hadn't actually done so yet.

They went through the door and when it shut the stairwell was eerily quiet. They took the stairs slowly, the steps bare concrete, the handrail an unpainted pipe bolted into the wall.

The bottom of the staircase opened out to a big, open basement room, about the size of the club above. There were people milling around, circle of wooden folding chairs in the middle of the room, a bar with the top nearly entirely covered with bottles of water, a half-dozen beers, and a couple different kinds of liquor. There were exposed beams, newly-painted paneling on the wall. There were a bunch of interlocking 1-inch mats stacked against the wall beside heavy-duty shelving holding large, labeled, clear-sided plastic boxes filling them. It looked and smelled a bit like a hip gym -- there was the scent of sweat, cleaning products, and rubber from shoes and the mats. A series of sturdy hooks dotted the wall a bit higher than head-height; Alex was not entirely sure what they were for.

There was a small room taking up the corner. It had a picture window and seemed to be absolutely stuffed with pillows and couches and beanbag chairs. There was more water in there, the lighting low and everything looking soft.

In the middle of the room was a woman with short, grey hair, a purple muscle t-shirt, and high-waisted jeans tucked into riding boots. With the right kind of jacket she could have fit in with Mrs Evan's bridge club. But instead of a deck of cards, her weathered hands held a sturdy pair of leather handcuffs.

The chairs were mostly full, but there were a couple of seats open. None together.

The woman waved them over, looking at a woman with dark, tightly curled hair: "Hey, Pam, can you scoot over so these folks can sit together?" She looked Alex firmly in the eye as they walked closer, asking: "I assume you'd prefer to sit together?"  
  
Alex nodded and Michael nudged him forward. Alex sat with his feet planted on the floor, hands clasped between his knees, Michael lounging beside him, laying his black Stetson on his knee.

"We just finished introductions," she said, flashing a welcoming smile. "He/him's fine for you two?" 

They both nodded, Alex not remembering the last time anyone checked his pronouns. Certainly not on any base he'd been on.

"Since I don't recognize you gentleman, I'll assume this is your first time here?"  
  
Michael shook his head: "I've come to some of the club nights, but," he glanced over at Alex. "I saw on the mailing list that you had this orientation and Alex and I thought it might be a good experience."

She turned dark eyes to Alex: "Alex, what do you think of all this?"  
  
"It's a nice place you have here. I haven't had a chance to be in queer spaces," he sort of trialed off. He saw Michael's hand move and pause, like he was thinking through whether Alex would want to be touched under the circumstances. Alex reached out his hand and gripped Michael's, the feeling of connection, of safety, pulling him out of his worries. He relaxed back into his chair a bit.

The moderator smiled: "Well, we're not doing any playing today, since this is just the orientation. We'll have a couple of themed nights every month, and members can schedule time in the space."

She looked around at the different faces in the circle. There were a variety of ages and genders. Alex didn't see anyone else with a physical disability, but there was a man across from him who had a haircut that looked like it came from a base barber. Alex didn't recognize him, but the man caught his eye and nodded, once.

She kept talking: "We started renovating the space about a year ago, when the Wet Spot -- that is, the Center for Sex Positive Culture -- closed. Most folks, power exchange is something they manage between their partner or partners. With Grindr and Tinder, it's not hard for people to find one-off play partners." 

She looked around, "What can be hard is a place that's safe to play. Safe because there are good quality materials," she snapped the handcuffs tight between her hands and Alex noticed that the leather didn't stretch, the seams didn't pull. It looked as solid between her hands with her biceps swelling with the force she was exerting as it had soft and supple in her hands. 

"A space that's safe because we have classes. Because we have folks on staff who can help discuss contracts, mediate concerns, folks who've been there and back and got the whip marks to prove it," a few people in the circle laughed and Alex blanched. The idea of being hit in this environment had no appeal to him. It was the dynamic of control and release that he was interested in, from what he'd read.

"We've tried to build a safe place," she said. "There's moderators around who can keep and eye on things, make sure everyone is ok. And," she pointed over to the room with the big bay windows, "And a recovery room so no one is riding anyone hard and hanging them up wet." There was a bigger laugh at that one, and Alex felt a smile work its way to the surface.

She laid the handcuffs down on her chair. "I do want to be clear that everyone using this space are volunteers-only. There are a number of great pros in the region and most of them have their own home spaces that they can use. This is a space for people who want to learn outside of a professional capacity. Of course, pros can come by with their partners or dates. But if we find anyone is taking money to use the space, we'll ask everyone to leave, since that's not the purpose of the space. We've got few enough spaces as it is, and it's not like the local police are particularly kink-friendly."

Alex looked around at the lack of windows, the lack of obvious what he thought-of as dungeon attire.

"This orientation is going to take about half an hour. What I'm going to spend 10 minutes talking about is ethical BDSM, that is, how to do this and not hurt yourself or anybody else. Then 10 minutes going over 2 knots. Then 10 minutes for a more thorough tour and one luck person will get to try out the flogger. Alright?"  
  
Michael glanced over at Alex, murmuring: "We can head-out before that starts."

She caught the exchange and smiled: "We'll have a pause before we start the demonstration. Simulated violence isn't everything's deal."

Alex nodded, chest loosening.

"I forgot to say -- my name is Starhawk."

She launched into a lecture; about 2 minutes in, Alex pulled out his phone and started taking notes. Michael glanced over at him and tucked a smile into his cheek as he tapped his hat on his knee. Alex's had had a 4th grade teacher who'd said that someone's notes should only be decipherable to them. It had been the first time he'd realized words could hide as well as explain meaning. His notes were essentially a list of terms he'd plan to look-up when they got back home:

  * safe, sane, and consensual
  * active consent
  * stop lighting
  * "safewording-out"
  * "responsible use of power"
  * EMT sheers
  * rope recommendations: cotton knots hard, start with well-sourced hemp or woven synthetics; hardware store just fine
  * praise kink?



Michael leaned over, looking at the screen, pressing his finger to highlight "praise kink" and bolding it. Alex looked quizzically at him, but Starhawk was still speaking, so he held off.

She wrapped-up that portion and left the circle, and walked over to the wall, pulling one of the large clear plastic boxes from the heavy-duty shelves. Inside were a riot of colorful loops, curls, and twists that Alex realized were skeins of rope. Starhawk settled the box on her wooden folding chair and called-out a thickly curved woman in a leather corset.

"Carrie, are you ok being my knot model?"

The woman nodded and Starhawk began to unwrap a skein of dark purple rope as she talked: "We're going to go over the Burlington Bowline and the Struggler's Knot. The important thing about both of these knots is they're for one wrist. They are not slipknots, because we never use slipknots on skin. " She looked around, making sure she had everyone's attention.

Carrie held her wrist out and Starhawk folded the rope, made something like a figure-four knot, then another loop, and pulled it tight. She walked to the middle of the circle of chairs, showing the knot: "It won't ever get any tighter than it is now, but if something goes wrong, we can always -- " and she pulled a pair of safety scissors out of her back pocket and in a moment, the rope was coiling down to the floor in two curling pieces. Alex watched it fall, something in the curling shape tugging something in him.

"Alright everyone, if you came with a partner, feel free to stick with them. I'll organize the lone rangers. Remember to ask before touching anyone and to always check-in. You're each going to do the knot once on the other person, and have it done once for yourself."

Alex glanced at Michael, voice quiet: "Any color preference?" He asked, not sure what else to ask. Michael's smile was warm, some heat in his eyes. "Anything you like."

Alex got a turquoise skein, fingers idly rolling the soft synthetic material, looping it around his fingers and feeling the tug and give of it.

Alex thought this was one of the weirdest sexual situations he'd ever been in, here in this basement. He knew intellectually that everything they were down here for involved sex and other needs as deep as sex. But this could have been a driver's ed class or a weapon's briefing for all it was technical and explicit, everyone clothed and everything polite. There were _rules_ and _norms_ and people casually talking about things he'd never seen outside of porn, and he couldn't remember any porn like this space at all, all clean and organized and thoughtful. It felt like any other healthy meeting of adults, but under that, it hummed, thick and permanent in the air of the room, the feeling of sitting down to a steak dinner after missing lunch. And there was none of the hiding, none of the awkwardness, none of the shame he'd always associated with non-straight sex. He was going to have to think about this space some.

"Want to do me first?" Michael said with a wink when he got back and Alex smirked, biting his tongue. Michael held out his right wrist, and Alex flipped the rope around the way he'd seen, but got stuck on the second part. 

Michael glanced around and, seeing Alex's body was blocking view of his wrists, used his mind the tug the end to the place it needed to go. The feeling of the rope tugging against Alex's fingers shifted something inside of him. Suddenly, he could feel his blood moving from his heart to his fingertips, could feel the warm skin of Michael's wrist against his palm. He took a breath and began to unpick the rope. The knot came undone quickly, and Alex handed over the rope. Michael's eyes were dark drink, a smile twinkling in them as Alex held out his wrist. The sounds of the room faded back, until he could just hear Michael's low voice when he asked:

"Ready?"

Alex's throat was dry so he nodded. Michael's hand went around his wrist and Alex felt something drop in his gut, like the first small drop on a rollercoaster ride. The rope was still warm from Michael's skin, slick and soft. He watched him make the knot, tugging it tight. Once he had a firm grip on the tail, Alex tried experimentally tugging, to see if it slipped. As soon as the rope went tight and he couldn't get further, he felt his stomach drop all the way, going down the steepest fall of a rollercoaster, exhilarated and weightless. His breath whooshed out of his chest and he leaned forward to steady himself on Michael's shoulder.

"You ok, love?" Michael asked, voice sounding worried.

Alex found his words, pulling himself upright again: "Yeah, I just didn't expect to have it feel so intense."

He felt someone approaching and turned to see Starhawk. She had an understanding look of her face, and Alex still felt like he was breathing through a straw.

She looked down at the knot and then smiled at them both: "Good job. Now, next-up is the Struggler's Knot. It's pretty similar, so once you get it, try tying the tails to the back of the chair with the Burlington."

"Got it," Alex said, and his voice sounded breathy. She didn't comment and moved on to the next pair.

"I'm going to --" Michael said, moving to remove the knot, and Alex wanted to tell him to leave it, just for a bit, but he knew it wasn't the time or place, so he just hummed his agreement.

The next knot was easier, Michael joking and ribbing him as he got it around his wrist -- this time without the telekinetic assist -- and to the back of the chair. Michael lifted his arm up, the chair dangling from it, with a wry look and Alex said under his breath: "Imagine doing this with the wrought-iron bedframe. Bet could couldn't lift that with just your muscles."

Michael grinned, voice soft: "I'm pretty sure it's not me that's most excited about the potential of those beds."

Alex flushed and levered Michael's arm down so he could undo the knot. He held the rope in his hands, looking at it intensely, before saying: "This not your thing?"

Michael's hand come into view, covering his. "It's maybe less my thing than it might be your thing, but that doesn't mean we can't do it together. You like potstickers and I like fried rice; it doesn't mean we can't steal from each other's plates. We can be a matched set without being identical."

Alex leaned in nudging his shoulder. "Sounds like you've thought about it."

Michael shrugged: "I've had a lot of time to think about what I want. The short answer is: you. However you are. We'll make it work."

Alex wrapped his arms around him, not caring for the moment they were surrounded by strangers, that the basement smelled gently of Lysol, that he was starting to hear the base beat come through the ceiling. He just needed to tell Michael something touch could say in seconds but words might never reach.

Starhawk called time, showing them how to properly wind the rope so it didn't end up in a, uh, kinky mess. 

Then she said: "We've got the membership sign-up at the bar. We'll get a lucky volunteer up on the St Andrew's Cross and will be starting that portion in about 5 minutes."

Carrie raised her hand, bouncing in excitement, and Starhawk and some of the others laughed with her as she bounded over to what Alex had thought was a jumble of left-over two-by-fours but he realized were actually a sturdy X-frame anchored to the wall.

"Ready to head up?" Michael said, low in his ear, as he settled his Stetson on his head. Alex nodded, grabbing his and Michael's chairs and setting them to the side of the room where the regulars had already began clearing.

Alex could still feel the tingling, post-rollercoaster feeling shifting and shimmering down his skin. He checked his shoulder, but Max's handprint was still carefully hidden. He wondered if it was why he was noticing the women's bodies in the room more than usual. Not sexually, because no handprint could change that part of him, but he thought he was seeing them differently than he usually did.

The tingling feeling only intensified when Michael's hand pressed wide and flat against his lower back. He pushed through it, grabbing some water bottles from the bar and Michael and Alex both signed-up for the mailing list. Neither signed-up for the membership -- it wasn't in the budget and he wanted to talk with Michael in a less intense space about it.

As they turned towards the stairs, Alex reached back and wrapped his hand around Michael's, pressing their palms together before sliding his fingers between Michael's and squeezing. "I'm up for a couple of dances if you are," he said and Michael grinned, smile bigger than it had been at any other time during the night.

"Hoping you'll hear some Panic At the Disco!?" He asked, "I've seen your workout playlist -- I'm not sure how you lift weights to 'Build God, Then We'll Talk' or 'There's a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered,' but you do you."

Alex glared: "If it has a beat, you can lift weights to it."

Michael shrugged: "I've always figured lifting engine blocks was all the working out I needed,"

Alex turned on the stairs in the overhead fluorescents, the step putting him a head higher than Michael. Michael's hat sat back on his head as he looked up at Alex, lips gently parted. Alex looked him up and down, letting Michael see every ounce of appreciation for the body Michael had made for himself.

His voice came out husky, almost choked when he said: "I think you're doing just fine." His hand came up, tucking a flyaway curl back behind Michael's ear as Michael's hand came up to grip his hip. "Remember the first time in the Airstream, after you told me you never look away?"  


Something flashed across Michael's face; probably remembering the disastrous morning after. A disaster of Alex's own making, but still, not what he was wanting to remember.

"After we kissed and you tossed me down on the bed," and Michael buried his face in Alex's shoulder, as Alex cupped the back of his head.

"I just wanted you to stay where I could see you," Michael murmured, "I wasn't wanting to manhandle you,"

And something clicked in Alex's head, running down through his body like a shiver: "I think that's what I like about all of this stuff," he said, "It's you putting me someplace, keeping me, like I'm yours."

Michael pulled back to rest his forehead against Alex's, skin hot: "We're each other's."

Alex nodded. "I think that's why, in the trailer, I couldn't get my pants off fast enough -- because you'd put me where you wanted me, and I felt wanted there." He ran a hand up Micael's spine, "And then you took off your shirt and there was no way I was leaving. I didn't need any handcuffs or fancy rope. Just the sight of you and the body you'd made for yourself were all I needed to know where I was going to be. So yeah, I think you're doing just fine in the body department."

He could feel Michael's breath against his lips, uneven and barely controlled.

"I want to touch you so badly," Michael said. Alex smiled, taking a step backwards up the steps, drawing Michael up with him.

"Then come on, let's dance."

They made it to the top of the stairs without mauling each other and Alex barely got the door open only to hear: 

> _ And if I try to change my life one more day _
> 
> _ There would be nobody else to save _
> 
> _ And I can't change into a person I don't wanna be, so _
> 
> _ Oh, it's Saturday night, yeah _

Alex gave a sound that could be ungenerously summarized as a squeak and yanked Michael the rest of the way up the stairs, the cowboy stumbling with a grin after him.

They found a little corner of the room where Alex could stash his cane and they weren't being too crowded. Then Michael looked him in the eye, draped his arms over his shoulders and swayed right up into his space, all hips and careless grins. Alex wasn't one to stand down a challenge so he anchored his hands to Michael's hips and tucked himself the last few millimeters against him, lip-synching with the song as Michael moved them together, moving in so closely Alex wasn't sure where he body began and Michael's ended. After a verse, he realized his face aching and realized he was sharing Michael's grin.

When he glanced over Michael's shoulder, he saw a dozen other couples doing the same, all different kinds of bodies, mostly queer but not all, writhing and touching and laughing and singing along as the laser lights above swept neon rainbows over the heavy air. He thought his heart was beating in time with the drums and his blood flowing to the push of the saxophones under the chorus. 

> _ Swear to God, I ain't ever gonna repent  _
> 
> _ Mama, can I get another amen? _

And Alex realized -- he felt _young_. For the first time he could remember, he felt 28, not 108, not a tired 54, but his actual age. He was  _out_ on a  _Saturday_ on a  _date_. He closed the inches between his and Michael's faces, kissing him and not able to stop smiling, Stetson shielding their faces. Michael dragged his hand to his head to keep the hat from falling off as Alex pushed even closer, bodies moving together.

He felt Michael's hands move and nudge him to turn around. He did it, tipping his head back on Michael's shoulder, Michael's Stetson safely back in place, and pressed his hips back into Michael's feeling an answering push and he felt his heart kick against his ribs like a snare drum. Michael's hands were wrapped around his chest, fingers digging into his shirt so Alex could feel the fabric bunching and sliding against his skin. Michael was pressed tight against hisback, stubble rough against his neck, but while he wasn't usually a fan of beard burn, after the ropes and with the lights and the sound and the darkness and the heat-press of bodies, it felt like just one more perfectly overwhelming sensation. He rubbed back into him and though there was no way he could hear it over the music, he could have sworn he heard Michael make a gut-punched sound.

The DJ switched to another track, the intro including something like a banjo and half the crowd groaned and the other half screamed:  

> _ Yeah, I'm gonna take my horse to the old town road  _
> 
> _ I'm gonna ride 'til I can't no more  _
> 
> _ I'm gonna take my horse to the old town road _

He felt Michael's hands on his hips, turning around and then Michael was stepping back and -- Alex's laugh was caught in the chorus, but there was Michael Guerin, heel-toe-stepping like an octogenarian line-dancer. Hand on his hat, head down, the flashing lights danced off his buttons and seams, glinting on the shine of his boots. Then his hips did _something_ and Alex couldn't breathe. He had never, in his entire life, considered country music sexy, even with Lil Nas X singing. But now it was undeniable.

He stepped into Michael space, moving like he was going to hang his arms over his shoulders but then snatching his black Stetson right off of his head, watching Michael's mouth drop open and hair fan-out in a curly halo. His squawk of outrage was swallowed by the music as Alex set it his head and smirked up from under it at Michael. It smelled perfectly of Michael and pressed comfortable around his head. He had no idea what the steps Michael had done were, but he could move his hips, one hand pressed to his chest and the other securing the hat lest Michael try to reclaim it.

But the hat wasn't what Michael was aiming to claim, so when Alex felt himself jerked forward, he met Michael's kiss with every bit of intensity he felt from the other man. It was pushing up out him like a long-damned hot spring. His body was tight with need, and Michael's mouth relentless, and he wasn't sure where his hands could possibly go now that wouldn't get them kicked out when the music changed again.

Three quiet piano chords and the mood in the room shifted states, like watching mercury run liquid at room temperature. He could hear his breathing, could hear Michael's, and they pulled apart at the same time, hands settling around each other's bodies, in something more like a swaying hug than dancing:

> _ There is a house built out of stone  _
> 
> _ Wooden floors, walls and window sills  _
> 
> _ Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust  _
> 
> _ This is a place where I don't feel alone  _
> 
> _ This is a place where I feel at home _

And as Alex felt his heart rate cool, his skin easing itself of the tension of the moments before, he felt something tapping inside, a quiet thought. When it was this loud, this much happening around him, he could rarely think clearly, so as he and Michael cooled down in each other's arms, he listened to the music as the thought resolved for him:

> _ Cause, I built a home  _
> 
> _ For you  _
> 
> _ For me _

When he had it, he murmured it into Michael's ear: "This is what prom should have been."

And he felt something move across Michael's body, a tightening, a holding closer, and then a nod.

Alex closed his eyes, imagining it -- dancing with someone he liked, feeling their body against his in the sweet watchful weirdness of a group dance, fancy shoes gumming-up the gym floor. He would have his hands under Michael's suit coat, Michael's face alongside his, humming the lyrics to "I'm Yours" or "American Boy." Alex would have still had his eye-liner, his piercings, a whole lot more of his sense of self. Michael would have been warm and slight and possessing two good hands. And there -- this would have there there too. The chance to breathe in the moment, to revel in the reality that they were young and free and had freely chosen each other.

"I would have liked that," Michael said. "I would have liked the go to prom with you."

Alex gripped him tighter. "I'm glad I have you now."

"I'm glad too," Michael said.

> _ I climbed the tree to see the world  _
> 
> _ When the gusts came around to blow me down  _
> 
> _ I held on as tightly as you held onto me _

"Ready to head out?" Michael said, and Alex nodded. They wove through the quiet couples, the singles getting more drinks or checking their phones or just watching, swaying on their own to the circling, cycling violins.

The air outside was cool, the bouncer nodding at them and letting two more people in from the waiting line. Alex looked back at the line -- men and women and non-binary people in pairs and groups and singles, wearing bright neons and dusty jeans and no small number of cowboy hats. He caught a few of their eyes and tried to memorize their faces, to remember that there was this whole world of people out there.

Then Michael tugged on his hand, and they began the walk back to the hotel.

Michael didn't try to get his hat back, but kept glancing over at Alex, smiling and then glancing away again.

"Where'd you learn to line dance?" Alex asked, tucking his arm around Michael's waist.

"Sanders," he said, "he used to dance to KBIM," naming the local country station, "and when we got bored and it was raining and there was no one else around, he'd show me his steps."

Alex tried to find the words to describe what he'd felt: "I know angry cowboy is my thing, but I didn't know how much of the 'cowboy' part of that was just you and how much of it is general."

Michael's smirk was positively filthy: "You should see me range riding on a stallion."

Alex opened his mouth, and found he had no words, the image of Michael swaggering up to him on a horse taking all his vocabulary. Michael laughed, pulling him in closer.

They held hands up the stairs to their room, boots echoing on the rocky concrete of the external walkway. Michael slipped the card from his back pocket and opened the door. Alex went through first and before the door shut, Michael was crowding him up tight against the wall, hands in his hair and knocking the Stenson to the carpet, hips pressing against his and Alex finally let himself notice how hard Michael was against him, how much he ached for him. He shoved his hands into Michael's pants, palming his ass and yanking him even closer and Michael gasped into his mouth.

"Shirt," Michael ordered and Alex shoved his hands between them fumbling button after button out of Michael's shirt as he did the same for his shirt, mouths never leaving each other's, feet nearly stepping on each other, breathing chaotic. He couldn't see _anything,_ the light switch somewhere mysterious that would require him letting go of Michael to find and the blackout curtains stopping even the ambient city light from getting into the room.

Alex got Michael's off first and he made a noise when he had to take his hands off Alex's body to get his shirt off. Moments later Alex was helping with his own buttons and they got his shirt off -- then they were back on each other, hands everywhere, touching every bit of skin they hadn't been able to touch like this for weeks, palms pressing, fingers pressing in. When Alex swept a thumb over Michael's peck he _keened_ , body rocking against Alex's.

"What do you want," Alex gasped, and Michael shook his head, his words not coming. And it was that, more than any little voice reminding them of what they'd promised each other, that Michael couldn't tell him what he wanted, that pulled Alex back. Michael felt him still and he slowed, hands still on him, but more clutching than stroking.

"Cold shower," Alex groaned and Michael huffed in irritation.

"I really didn't think 12 weeks was going to be this bad," Michael grumbled, hands tight on Alex's hips, thumbs hooked inside the waistband along the bony line of his hips. "I've had spans of 12 weeks where I don't remember doing _anything_. How are these weeks so full? Why is this so hard?"

Alex aimed to kiss his forehead and ended-up getting his eyebrow and chuckled. "These have been the best 5 weeks of my life. I think they've been so full because they've been full of love."

And Michael froze and Alex wished he could see his face, could see inside his mind. He had a guess about what he was thinking but he'd started the thought and he wanted to finish it. He fumbled against the wall, muttering: "I need to see you,"

Michael reached around him and smacked the wall over his shoulder, catching the edge of the light switch. They both winced at the bright light.

Michael's mouth was pink and wet, his hair wild from Alex's hands, eyes even wilder. Alex reached up, smoothing his palm down Michael's jaw, holding his eyes and breathing with him.

"I love you, Michael. I know I've said it before, but I need you to hear it. I love you. This time together has been full of love because I love you."

"I love you too," Michael said, voice catching, "And it feels like so much. It's a lot, all the time, and it's around me and in me and --"

"It's like going over a rollercoaster."

Michael gave him a half-smile: "Or what I imagine boosting off into space will feel like. But it's all the time."

Alex smiled: "For me too. So when we get to it, the sex will be epic. But I'm still ok waiting."

Michael groaned, a look of frustration moving across his face, but then he nodded. "I agree."

He looked down his body, still hard against Alex, then gave a self-depreciating chuckle. "But I won't be able to sleep unless I take care of this situation." He waved at himself, "So, you want the shower first or --"

And Alex had to close his eyes, the sense memory of Michael's body still so close and then his mind supplying the image of him wet, naked, cock in hand -- 

"I think I'm going to need one too. You can go first."

"You sure?" Michael asked, nudging just a little closer and Alex knocked his head against the wall, eyes screwed-up tight. 

"Yes," he said, voice tightly-controlled.

"Mmm," Michael said, pressing a final, nearly-chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw.

"Alright, see you in a few minutes."

He headed into the bathroom, unzipping his pants with a sigh as the door swung shut. 

Alex stumbled to the bed and sat down, opening-up his phone to try to find something to distract himself. He couldn't get comfortable as he heard the water turn on; he pressed the heal of his palm to his groin, pressure relieving some of the tension but giving him none of the friction he wanted. He knew what it would smell like here if he got started, handled himself here, but that's not what they agreed to.

He opened-up the notes he'd taken from the workshop, considering Googling some of them, then reconsidering whether that would help him cool down or not.

He wondered how Michael liked it. He remembered every moment of the times they'd been together, but everyone touches themselves differently when they're alone. He could almost imagine Michael, back to the spray, curled around himself, working himself furiously. But would he take care of himself immediately or touch himself first, moving his hands all the places Alex had just been touching him, the places he hadn't gotten to touch yet? Alex gritted his teeth, folding his arms across his stomach, finding himself rocking against the friction of his jeans. 

He tried to think of unsexy things, but everytime he closed he eyes he could see Michael's wet back, hair slicked back from his face. What with jumping in the hot springs a few times a week, he hadn't needed any more help with his hair. If Alex was feeling a little bit less libidinous, he would certainly be offering to help. He liked that form of intimacy too, how Michael made space for Alex.

The water shut off and Alex sat-up so that when Michael walked into the room in a cloud of steam, towel low and tight against his hips, chest flushed, eyes and smile a little more sated, a little lazier, Alex got to see it in his eyes. Michael stepped up beside him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, before opening his bag and finding sleeping pants. 

Alex stood, calling back over his shoulder: "Did you leave me any tiny soaps?"

"Yup," he said, voice easy.

Alex stood, walking gingerly to the bathroom and closing the door. He got the water the way he wanted it, then laid down a towel on the floor. He undid his prosthetic and set it down on the towel.

He climbed into the tub, the shower pounding down around him with admirable water pressure. He had planned on washing his hair, his legs and chest, but as soon as the hot water hit his back his hand was on his cock, his forearm muffling his mouth. Unless it was life-or-death, Alex was rarely quiet.

The water created a sound barrier around him and it mostly smelled of hotel, but he let himself imagine it smelled like Michael, imagine Michael was curled over him, Michael's hand on him, whispering: "It's alright, I've got you, I've got you, hey, hey, I've got you,"

His hand was loose and tight the way he liked it. He was so close, imagining Michael kissing down his neck, hand rubbing across his chest, his pecs, down to his cock and lower, touching him like something precious, touching him like he deserved to be touched and held -- and Alex was losing it, body riding it out in tight motions, until he was gasping and cursing with it.

When he'd cooled down and the water started to feel irritating, he looked over. He'd mostly kept it to the tub, but he was going to have to splash off the curtain. His body was covered in tingles, his blood rushing high against his skin.

The post-orgasm sleepiness started to roar over him and Alex turned off the water, sitting on the edge of the tub to towel off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He used his crutch to get back into the room to find Michael flopped over on his stomach, back bare, legs slightly flopped apart.

Even without the ability to get anything up for the next 15 to 20 minutes, all Alex wanted to do in that moment was crawl on top of him and lay on him, to feel his chest against his back, to feel his hands clench into fists around his, feel every breath. He got his sleeping pants on and moved to the less-occupied side of the bed and slipped under the covers.

Michael flipped his head over to look at him. His brown eyes were sleepy.

"Mmm," Michael said, then rolled-up on his side, lifting his arm. Alex turned his back and curled Michael around him, bare chest to his bare back, hips tight against each other, Michael's hand soft on his stomach.

"Thanks again for tonight," he said,

Michael buried his face in the back of his hair: "Anytime, love."

Alex reached his arm out, remembering to set an alarm for the morning. He ran his hand down Michael's arm, curling his hand over the back of his hand, between the spaces, to press his fingertips to his callouses.

"Goodnight, my love," he said.

"Goodnight, love," Alex answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments! They make my whole entire day. We've got some angst coming up in the next few chapters, so I wanted a nice, long, lovely evening for them.
> 
> What parts did you like? Anything surprise you?


	17. Five Weeks, Six Days, and 8 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was slower to post this chapter because I was writing the final scene, Zero Weeks, Zero Days, Zero Hours, Three Minutes. It's all written, we just need to get there. I may be able to get a second chapter up today; I hope I can, because it's a big one.
> 
> I hope you like it! This chapter is a bit of a love-letter to Maria DeLuca because I love her and I'm really glad to be able to bring her in.

Alex lay flat on his back in Michael's bunker. They'd rigged-up half-a-dozen different projectors and they were all shining Michael and Kyle's pictures of the hot spring carvings onto the curving walls overhead. Arms behind his head, he made room on the cool concrete as Michael shifted beside him, leg curled over his.

"What's _that_ one," Alex said, picking a swirling language section at random.

"That's a description of the propulsion system," Michael said, hand idly tracing the symbols on Alex's stomach over his shirt. "It's water based. Essentially, what my people did is find a comet, many of which are just huge chunks of ice, attach the front of our vehicles to it and then use a nuclear reactor to turn it into steam."

Alex glanced down at the curly head making its home on his chest: "Do you have nuclear reactor in mind?"  
  
Michael shook his head: "It's on the list."

"Oh, it's on the list. That's alright then."

Alex pointed to another section, ones that looked less like language and more like some kind of map. "And what about that?"  


Michael's smile came through in his voice as he shuffled his stack of paper notes. "That one's been hard for me, but I _think_ it's the directions for how to get through an asteroid field that surrounds Antar. It would suck to get there and get sucker-punched by a big rock."  Michael sniggered: "Remember that time Maria sucker-punched Flint?"

"Maria DeLuca sucker punched my _brother_?"

Michael propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Alex quizzically. The swirling dictionary of his people hovered behind him, his hair purple with the projected light, his eyes full of stars even as he remembered. "It was sophomore year, he was a senior. He was playing smear the queer, with oh, what was their name. Billy Collins. So Maria sees it happening. And here's the brilliant thing: she's like a third his size, right?"

"Yeah, well, interpretive dance doesn't build-up the same kind of muscle mass as being a linebacker does."

"So she steps in with her knee-high, vintage store boots, gets in his space, puts her ankle behind his, gives him this little love-tap right in the nose, blood _everywhere_ and then he falls on his ass in front of his entire group. And what's he going to do? Hit _Maria DeLuca_ in her flouncy peasant blouse and her fluffy harem pants? No, I don't think so."

Alex narrowed his eyes, "I don't remember this happening."

"Well, it's not like Flint would have told you --"

" _Maria_ would have --"

"Would she? Maybe she was worried you'd get mad are her for, you know, hitting your brother."

"Maria would have known I would not have gotten mad at her for hitting Flint."

Michael shrugged: "You can ask Isobel and Max, they were there too."

"Why were they there?"  
  
"We all gym period together and it was just outside of the locker rooms."

Alex shook his head: "I would have loved to see that."

Michael paused, and then he asked, expression cautious: "Do you know where your brothers are?"

Alex closed his eyes: "I hear from everyone but Flint a few times a year. They're doing their own things as far from here as the US Military would let them get. Flint is --" he shook his head. "He was always Jesse's favorite and I've honestly been shocked I haven't seen his names in the Project Shepherd files yet. Why do you ask?"

Michael smiled: "A mix of self-preservation and Alex-preservation. Getting Jesse out of our hair has been incredible and I guess I just keep waiting for the other jackboot to drop."

Alex twisted his mouth: "Yeah, me too."

He reached up, tucking a curl behind Michael's ear.

"Switching over to things we can control -- I really like how the house looks now. The couch is super comfy. When are you coming over to see it? I got the rugs up after you all left last Sunday."

Michael leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth before pulling back and looking down at him: "I have kind of been neglecting you since we got back from Albuquerque, haven't I?"

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "You spent a huge amount of time with me and my stuff that week when you could have been down here decoding your people's language, getting ready to go home. I get that you need to do your own stuff too and your work matters to me. That's why Sunday night date night is in an underground bunker."

Michael smiled, waving his arm around: "It's one hell of a bunker."

Alex shifted to sitting, arranging himself between Michael's legs and leaning back against his chest as he braced his arms on the concrete.

He looked around appreciatively: "It's beautiful. Like being inside your brain. You've done so much good work here."

Michael pressed his face into Alex's hair, breath hot against his scalp: "It's gone so much faster with Kyle and Liz and even Isobel's input -- she figured out that the size of the text indicated its hierarchical importance, which is interesting for dictionary entries but really fucking important for, say, getting the instructions for constructing the console in the right order."

"The piece I found in the cabin fit in?"

Michael pressed a kiss behind his ear: "It's a big part of the reason I think we can get this done in the next year. Thank you again for it."

Alex tipped his head back on his shoulder. "I should have gotten it to you as soon as I knew."

Michael shrugged: "We weren't talking so well back then."

Alex smiled: "No Rule 5 mandating good communication yet."

Michael chuckled. He waved his hand and tugged the picnic basket Alex had arrived at the Airstream with a few hours before, finally giving-up on getting Michael to reply to his texts and just coming over after 3 days of patience with monosyllabic responses. They'd already worked their way through the sandwiches and strawberries, but now --

"You baked brownies?"  


Alex huffed a laugh. "I have no idea how to bake brownies, Michael. I _bought_ brownies at Crashdown. You can thank Jesus for these."

"How's he doing?"

"Good. He said his savings are going well. I used my sudden surplus of free evenings last week to drive him around to different apartment options." He paused, thinking of how to say this, if this was something he needed to talk to Michael about. He decided to dive in.

"I'm thinking of co-signing for him."

Michael shifted against him, holding him a little more closely. Alex kept talking: "All of the apartments require a deposit and that's what he's working on. Making rent won't be a problem, since it seems stable at Crashdown. But his Dad never got him a credit card, so he doesn't have any kind of credit for them to check. His car he's going to be able to buy outright --"

"I can look it over for him, since I assume he's buying used --"

Alex smiled: "That would be perfect, love. But yeah, he'll need someone to co-sign for him at any of the apartments with non-shitty landlords."

"That would be really kind of you," Michael said. "I --" and he paused, Alex feeling him look up through the concrete to where the Airstream rested. "That's how I ended-up with her up there -- I knew I could buy her outright, didn't need any kind of credit. I didn't have anyone taking as much of an interest in me as you do with your students."

Alex slid his hand down Michael's leg, gripping his knee. 

Then Michael murmured: "You know, I don't have a credit card either."

Alex craned his neck around, looking at Michael's face. There was a mix of embarrassment and stubbornness there.

Alex paused and then kissed his cheek: "Well, they probably don't take US credit on Antar, so it's not going to matter soon, is it?"

And Michael laughed, returning his kiss and reaching for a brownie.

\--

At 4:12pm on Monday, Alex got a text message from an unknown number.

> Unknown: I heard about what happened from Dad. I'm glad you have you back, Alex.

He narrowed his eyes at his phone. Of the three possible brothers who could have texted him, he had no doubt about who it was. Only Flint had never given him his number.

> Unknown: He said to avoid communication, but I got the order to shutdown Caulfield along with everything else before transferring out and I wasn't sure how he wanted that done. No clear instructions on implementation. We can liquidate stock, but it seems a shame. There's only a dozen of them left."
> 
> Unknown: Also, he told me to expect a delivery of stock a few weeks ago, courtesy of you, but nothing came through. Another one die in transit?"

'Another?''Liquidate'? Alex wanted to text back: "What the fuck" but his mind was racing. If he was reading this right, it meant 1) there were other aliens and 2) they might still be able to save them.

"Glad to be back." he drafted. That sounds sufficiently butch. "I'll come by with an inspection tomorrow. Kyle Valenti and Maria DeLuca will probably be with me; I read them both in."

He hit send. Immediately came back:

> Unknown: I wish I had the budget for extra staff. Think you can work on that for me, lil bro?
> 
> Alex: They're volunteers.
> 
> Unknown: Well, it was worth a try.

He sent a text to the Signal group.

> Alex: If folks want to come by tonight, something's come-up and I need everyone's input. I'd also like to read Maria DeLuca in. It's time and there's something tomorrow I need her for.

Before anyone could reply, he switched to a private chat with Michael.

> Alex: hey,

Michael replied a few minutes later, while a quorum in support of including Maria developed on the other thread.

> Michael: what's up?
> 
> Alex: I really should tell you in person but I also should really tell you as soon as possible. Do you have a preference?  
> 
> 
> Michael: Without knowing the context, I'm not sure I can have a preference.
> 
> Alex: True.

He took a breath, pressing a hand to his eyes.

> Alex: Remember I told you and Max that Jesse kept saying he wanted to send you to someplace called 'Caulfield'?
> 
> Michael: Yeah, I had Max look into it. It's an abandoned prison. We were going to schedule a time to go look at it, but our schedules haven't synched up yet.

Alex started to type: "I think they're holding aliens captive there" and he could just see Michael reading it, and rightfully flipping his entire shit. He looked at his calendar -- things were light today. He was planning for the two-week training he'd been asked to give at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, but he'd stayed later most nights last week, waiting out Jesus's shifts and knowing Michael was heads-down on his project. He could leave a bit early.

> Alex: You know what, this isn't a good thing to talk about over text. Can you meet me at the house?
> 
> Michael: You're worrying me. But yeah,
> 
> Alex: I'm worried too. See you there. I love you.
> 
> Michael: I love you too.

\--

Alex had been hyping himself the entire drive back and walked in the door to find Michael lounging upside-down on the pale turquoise leather couch they'd picked-up in Albuquerque, reading his handwritten notes on the symbols from the hot spring.He told Alex in the past that the positioned helped to re-orient his brain when he was working on his home language. Alex just thought he liked sitting wrong on furniture.

Alex started with: "I think there are survivors of the 1947 crash at Caulfield. I'm going tomorrow to see."

Then he said: "I'm only taking Kyle and Maria. You can't come."

This is where, Alex could see in retrospect, the prior seven weeks really paid off. Because Michael, instead of shouting or leaving or self-medicating about it, closed his eyes, rotated back upright, and said: "Rule 5."

Alex bit his tongue and looked around, trying to reorient himself. The rugs they had picked-out with Liz hung on the walls, with a massive, thick one in front of the fireplace. He knew the bedframes were assembled in their respective rooms, with the queen mattress he'd bought online and Goodwill sheets on the one in his room. Michael's hair was still fluffy from being upside down.

"Sorry," he started again, "That was a confrontational way for me to start."

Michael nodded, still not speaking. 

"And I probably could have come to you in a less dictatorial way?" Michael nodded again. "And I should ask your input on who should go to rescue people who might be your family?" Michael nodded, quite hard this time.

Alex ducked his head: "Do you want me to leave and come back in to try again?"

"I want you to come over here," Michael said, and Alex did, sinking onto the couch next to him gratefully. Then Michael took a breath. "Start from the beginning." 

Alex showed him the text messages from Flint, explained his thinking.

Michael zeroed in on the tactics, Alex seeing he couldn't really touch the massive emotional pieces of this news just yet: "So, why Kyle and Maria? Maria, who as of right now, has no idea about us."

"Well, from Flint's text message, it sounds like the prisoners aren't being considered people. They might be injured. And a doctor, even though you guys have different physiologies, is lightyears ahead of where I am with my minimal field medicine. And honestly? Someone who's done medical triage before, so if there's an emergency, I don't know if I can do that." 

"And Maria?"

"There's a couple of things I'm thinking about. One, is she is not known to my family in any way. They didn't know we stayed friends after my Mom left and Jesse cut-off contact. So they're not likely to have an extensive file on her, her face isn't likely to be recognized. And there's that she's incredible resourceful and we're likely to be talking our way into and out of places."

"Liz is resourceful," Michael interjected.

"She is. But in a very real way, I don't want to put her on any agency's radar to protect her Dad."

"And why not, you know, the people with the actual powers?"  
  
"Well, they probably think you're dead, Michael. And what if they lock the doors behind me? I don't want to put you all in danger and I honestly -- what if we screwed up? What if my Dad broke the conditioning and knows everything we did and this is a trap? So, I figure, the Sherrif's son and a beloved bartender --"

"What if they take _you --"_ Michael's voice was pained.

"I'm the only way Kyle and Maria are going to get through the gate."

"You keep," Michael rubbed his hands over his face, "You keep sacrificing yourself. Like it's your job. It's _not_ your job. I want you alive and well."

"They could be your family Michael."

"And you're mine."

Alex felt his heart swell. Michael put his arm around Alex's shoulders:  "Let's go over it from the top."

Alex and Michael worked out the plan while making dinner for the group, who trickled in as their shifts ended, chattering and interrupting and contributing, the plan getting fleshed out as everyone added their perspectives.

In the end, the plan wasn't much more complicated than the one that had come to Alex when he got the text. They were going to pretend it was an inspection, just like Alex had told his brother. They were going to go in and then they were going to improvise. They had three goals: continue to protect Michael, Max, and Isobel; discover if there really were more survivors of the crash; get enough information to ensure the shutdown of Project Shepherd didn't hurt more people than it helped. Kyle would come by Alex's place at 5am and they'd take Alex's truck north.

It was decided that Alex and Max would go to Maria before the Wild Pony closed for the night. So around 11pm, Alex kissed Michael goodbye as he, Liz, Kyle, and Isobel headed to the hot springs. Then he got into Max's truck.

"You're sure you need Maria?" He asked as he pulled out on the smooth sand coated driveway.

Alex wanted to snap that he'd already explained his reasoning twice, once to Michael and once to the entire group. But he took a breath. Every person Max let know the secret was another danger to him and his family. Michael had let his hand be smashed to pieces and lived with the pain for a decade rather than risk revealing it. Isobel was still hiding her species from her husband. It was a huge deal to bring someone else in.

"Once of the few good things I learned from my father is the rule of three," Max glanced over at him and Alex continued, the desert rolling away on either side of then. "When you go hiking or really, any uncertain situation, you always have 3 people. That means if someone gets hurt, one person can stay with them and the other can go for help." He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. "Outside of the wire in Iraq, that means you always have enough people to surround someone if you need, and no one can get you from behind."

Max nodded: "And I agree on not asking Liz," he gripped the wheel, "I just wish we didn't have to widen the circle of who knows."

Alex huffed a laugh: "I've been in the closet before, and for good reason. I know how important secrets can be."

Max's face steadied and he nodded.

"Ok, so how are we going to do this?"

\--

Alex walked into the Wild Pony, Max at his back, the bar reeking of testosterone and the blaring Blake Shelton jangling his nerves. Alex wished once, fervently, for Michael's hand at his back. There was none of the sense of community and welcome he'd felt at the club in Albuquerque; just the same old bullshit.

Maria was observing a pool game from the back, one of the barbacks taking a turn slinging buds and Jack and José from behind the bar.

Alex and Max both got seltzer waters and wandered toward her. Alex could spot a few stacks of twenties tucked under various bottles on the tallboys. There must have been $500 riding on this round.

He assumed Max had seen the same thing and so they came to lean beside Maria without speaking. There were two players: a bigger, skinhead-ier guy who was on solid colors and far, far ahead. The smaller one sported a tourist-big cowboy hat was looking pissed, but it didn't feel like violence was imminent. The skinhead sunk his last open ball into a pocket and Alex clocked every one of his leather-bound buddies who smirked at it. He counted a half-dozen supporters. Alex scanned the room to find the smaller man's supporters -- a dozen cowboy-cosplayers were watching from the edges of the room, moodily drinking their Coorses.

None of them had the work-built muscles Michael had under his work shirts; none had the real sun tans Michael kept under his Stetson. Probably all office workers in town, insurance agents out for a Monday night of playacting wild west. Alex shook his head. Playing cowboys and Indians wasn't much fun when your Mom had grown-up on a rez. Michael had never bought into the bullshit mythology of the west and Alex was never more aware of how grateful he was for that than when he came-up against guys like this. He shook his head. As long as all they wanted to do was dress-up, he had bigger issues to deal with tonight.

Maria's voice cut through "Nobody to Blame" as it pumped through the bar:

>   _She fired up my old hot rod_
> 
> _Ran it in the pond_
> 
> _Put sugar in my John Deere_
> 
> _I can’t even mow my lawn_

"So, to what do I owe this visit from my friends who seem to have forgotten I exist?"

Alex felt a shiv of shame down his spine. He'd been looking for a way to bring Maria in for weeks, but she had no way of knowing that. She was right to be pissed.

Max started to say something and Alex held-up his hand, speaking: "We've been bad friends. I want to make-up for it. But first I need a favor."

"Alex Manes," she said, rounding on him, bright eyes snapping. "You've been a ghost of weeks ever since you and Guerin made-up. And you," she pointed to Max. "Your _sister_ comes in here, gushing with Liz, who I didn't know she could stand, about some kind of hot spring and when I ask about it, you know what she said?"

Max's face held a boyish dread when he said: "What?"

"'Oh, I don't know if Alex would want you to come'!" She glared daggers up at Alex as the skinhead missed the 8-ball by a solid 3 inches and the cowboys started to inch closer to the table as their man knocked three back into the pockets, making-up half the ground he was behind.

"You can come by anytime, Maria," Alex said quietly and she shook her head.

"I don't like that house now. And a girl likes to be invited."

He bumped his shoulder into hers. "You should come by this weekend. It's like it was when your Mom would come over and visit with my Mom, before she left. It's nothing like it was after. And I should have invited you around a while back. I'm sorry."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but she gripped his shoulder briefly, nodding her acceptance of his apology. "You said you needed a favor."

Alex nodded. "I have something I have to do for work and I'm bringing Kyle and I wanted to see if you could come to. It's," he tried to think of the right way to say it here, in this place, without all of the context he knew she'd need. He and Max agreed they weren't going to tell her the whole secret here in public and he couldn't stay until after closing; he needed sleep to be able to do tomorrow right. 

So he went for the heart of it: "I got asked to look-in on something like a VA hospital. There's some folks who've been trapped there a long time and I don't know if they're being treated well. I thought, with your Mom, you might know how to talk to them."

Maria's entire demeanor changed. It was like watching her rise up out of herself, the avenging angel of Roswell High School, protectors of the bullied, dancer of protest dances.

"I can get Jordan to cover the afternoon shift," she said, "But if we're not back before 7pm, I'll have to let him close. He can't handle this madness by himself," and she looked over at the pool table. They two players were now dueling for the 8-ball, their buddies with hands on their stacks of money and faces tight on the action.

The skinhead missed again, barking his irritation and glared daggers at the smaller faux-cowboy. The other man looked serious, stalking around the table, before laying himself nearly flat on the edge and tapping the queue ball right into the 8-ball, sinking it nicely in the middle pocket. There was a long moment of tension as each group looked at each other and Maria swept forward, clapping her hands on both of the player's shoulders.

"Good game all. Who's buying the losers' shots?"

The group broke into good-natured ribbing, the tension seeping out between the floorboards. 

Alex was starting to feel better about the morning.

Maria agreed to come by Alex's place at 5am and after a few minutes more in the loud heat of the bar, he and Max headed out.

\--

Maria arrived right on time, Kyle pulling in beside her; Alex was waiting on the porch steps, Michael beside him. They'd figured last night counted as a night they both needed each other. They'd spent the night in the new bed, curled around each other, not speaking, just enjoying the brief quiet after everyone had headed home. Breakfast had been toast that Michael had barely been able to get down. It was going to be a rough day. 

Alex stood, crutch easy in his hand, Michael rising quietly beside him.

Alex spoke: "Before we head out, I wanted to show you two things." 

Kyle looked toward the hot spring but Alex stepped back up the steps.

He swung the front door open, gesturing in. Maria looked at him hard, and then walked cautiously up the steps. He let her walk into the front room first. She froze in the doorway.

"Oh, Alex," she said, turning to him, tears in her eyes as she turned around and hugged him. "It's like before your Mom left."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her back tightly. Maria hadn't been invited back to the Manes home after his Mom left, since no one was really allowed in the house under Jesse Manes' rule, but she'd heard from Alex bits and pieces of what that warm place had become.

She stepped away, tracing her hand over the turquoise leather couch with its bright brass studs, leaning in to smell the carpet on the wall.

She ducked her head, smiling quietly: "Did Liz help you find these? She always has a great eye for the real wood pieces."

He nodded, saying: "Michael found the couch."

She turned, glancing back. Michael had been hanging back, but now he stepped up, his body a warm presence at Alex's back. She traced her hands over the gripbars on the walls. "These your handiwork too, Guerin?"

"Alex deserved a home he could live in." Michael said simply and Alex took a step back into him, feeling his hand go to his hip. Maria nodded, smile small and fierce.

"He always has. I'm glad you helped him get there."

"There's something else," Alex said. "I think you might want to sit down."

Maria narrowed her eyes but settled herself on the couch. Kyle got to making coffee in the kitchen as Alex and Michael settled on the carpet. Alex glanced at Michael, but he seemed content for Alex to try his hand explaining.

Alex took a breath and held out his hands, palm up as she watched him intently: "This is going to be a lot, so let me try to say it all in one go. In 1947, there was a crash. It was real. And we think there are survivors from the crash at a prison about 100 miles north of here, that Flint has been running for my father."

"A space ship crash?" She said, head tilted, gentle humor in her voice.

Alex nodded, keeping his face serious: "We already knew there were three survivors. Three little kids who had been put into safety pods that kept them in stasis for 50 years, and then they came out and enrolled at school with us."

Maria glanced at Michael, but before she could scoff he raised his hand, and the couch -- Maria and all -- floated up, one, two, three feet. He gently turned it around, so it was facing Kyle as he sipped his coffee.

"It's true, Maria," Kyle said, "I didn't believe it either, but the Evanses and Michael are all aliens."

Maria was silent and Alex couldn't see her face. He began to stand and Michael helped him up. Together, they walked around to where she was still sitting, legs folded, eyes closed. She breathed out: "So, my Mom isn't wrong. About aliens."

Alex smiled, sad and gentle: "Well, Will Smith isn't part of the real story."

She chuckled, swiping her eyes as Kyle brought over a cup of coffee.

"So the people that we're checking on today --"

"Are Michael's family --" Alex started.

"Are aliens --" Kyle overlapped.

Maria held-up her hand. "Can we go over details in the car? If they've been imprisoned for 70 years, we shouldn't keep them waiting a moment longer than we have to."

Alex nodded. Maria glanced over at Michael. "Guerin's not coming because --"

Michael's face was tight, but his hand on Alex's back was warm: "Jesse had this whole top secret alien hunting thing. We convinced him I'm dead, by Alex's hand. I can't show my face anywhere they might see. I'm not aiming to end the day dissected on a table."

Maria blanched and Alex slipped his hand around Michael's waist. "We're just doing recon today. It shouldn't be dangerous. I wouldn't have asked you if it was."

Maria nodded: "So this is why you all have been hiding out here and not answering my texts?"

"That's part of it," Alex said, diving in. "But also, Michael's building a ship. So they can try to go home. It takes a group to run it, 7 people."

Maria's face went on a complex journey, but she fell back on humor, like she had since they were little: "Alex Manes, I knew you wanted to get out of Roswell. But I thought you were going to end-up in San Francisco or Portland, not --"

"Antar," Michael supplied.

"-- not Antar." She smiled, brain zigging and zagging through everything she'd just heard. "I'll think about it --"

Alex broke in: "No one's agreed for sure, since we're missing a ship and a reactor to run it, but it's something we're all trying to get our arms around."

Maria smirked: "I can see you getting your arms around it just fine, Alex."

He flushed but kept his grip on Michael. He leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "But we do have to get on the road."

Michael turned to kiss him and then they were out the door, piling into Alex's truck and on the way north to Caulfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life! Thank you so much to everyone who's been leaving lovely, thoughtful comments here. I really value them.
> 
> Like Michael, I also sit wrong on all possible furniture. Someone made me sit in a chair yesterday when I was perfectly comfortable on the carpet. It was terrible.


	18. Five Weeks, Five Days, 18 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of plot in this one, I hope you all like it!

Maria's first question was straight-forward: "What exactly are we walking into?"

Alex gripped the steering-wheel, shoulders already aching with tension and they were only 10 minutes into the 90 minute drive. Kyle was in the back seat behind Maria, Alex glancing to meet his eyes in the rearview before returning to the dusty red road.

"I don't know for sure," he paused, "It's a prison. I know that. There are aliens there, I am pretty sure. Flint will be there," he glanced over at her and there was steely look he loved on her face, like she was preparing to pop him in the nose again.

Kyle added: "I scanned through the medical journals I have access to about working with patients in long-term incarceration and long-term torture. Studies of Guantanamo Bay, Libyan dissidents from Qaddaffi's prisons, Soviet gulags. There's no one way to interact, no right script, but people who've been in captivity a longtime usually survive by creating some kind of routine they can follow. Disturbing that routine without their buy-in can be incredibly damaging."

His eyes were hard, and Alex was reminded how his bro-y football playing former-bully had become a professional healer: he still came at problems head-on, but now his tools were his mind and his hands, not his biceps and shoulders.

He kept going: "So we're not removing anyone today. We don't have anyplace for them to go, don't have people to care for them --"

Maria looked like she was going to interrupt but Kyle kept going -- 

"Unless there's an imminent threat to their lives. Then we'll just have to do our damndest."

Alex nodded. "I want to get a sense of what's happening and plan to tell Flint to keep things as stable as possible without alerting him to our motives."

Maria was frowning: "What did you tell him my role was?"

Alex smiled; it didn't feel like a nice smile. "He didn't ask. He's so used to being kept in the dark he's stopped looking for the light switch."

Maria shook her head: "Fucking Jesse Manes."

Alex agreed but Kyle broke in --

"Fuck, I just realized we're going to have to keep up the masquerade about Michael around Flint."

"What masquerade?" Maria asked, voice sharp.

Alex's voice was low and hard: "We had to get Jesse away from Michael, from Isobel and Max. Isobel's powers are persuasion-based, so we created a situation where Jesse could believe he'd won."

He caught a glimpse of Maria's horrified eyes before returning his eyes to the road.

"Alex, what did you _do_ \--"

Alex was squaring his shoulders, trying to find the words in his mouth, when Kyle said, softly: "He was incredibly brave, Maria. You should have seen it," he paused, "But I'm also kind of glad you didn't. It was horrifying to watch, to just have to watch happen. Alex went to Jesse on the base, told Jesse he was right, that that Michael had used his powers to make him gay, and that he hated him for it now. They went to the junk yard and --"

Alex's voice was crushed as he remembered it: "And I pretended to kill Michael."

Maria whipped around to glare at Kyle: "You let him do _what?_ "

"Let me? Maria --"

"No!" She said, holding up a silencing finger, "You are dumb with love and self-sacrificing to a fault. _You_ would never think to argue about this plan, though something this dramatic smells like Isobel's doing. But you --" she smacked Kyle's knee hard enough he winced, " _You_ are supposed to protect him. Protect them. Make up for some of the bullshit you put all of us through in high school. What did it fucking do to Alex, to make him do that --"

"I --" Kyle started and Maria shook her head hard again.

"No. It's done and you are dumb and _you --_ " she turned to Alex and he was like 35% terrified and 65% so fucking grateful to have her back in his life, " _You_ are not allowed to do anything like that on this trip. Your well-being matters. You're not a pawn in anyone else's redemption story. I'm glad you seem to be ok, that Michael was there for you and you're good for each other, because anyone with eyes can see you are, but that was so fucking dumb."

She crossed her arms, staring out the front window and breathing on a 10-count to calm herself down.

Alex made eye-contact with Kyle through the rearview and was surprised to see his friend was looking both shell-shocked and guilty. Alex wanted to say that it had seemed like the only plan at a time, that it made perfect sense. But maybe Maria's comment about being a pawn, and Michael's the night before about him sacrificing himself, they were ringing in chorus across his brain. He shelved that for consideration later.

For now, he wanted to get them back on topic: "Are there other questions you have?"  


He immediately regretted it as Maria turned to him with the most delighted, sneaky smile possible across her bright face: "So, Michael stayed the night?"

Alex flushed and blurted out: "We didn't do anything."

Maria's frown was the kind of thing to make a white supremacist cower away from her bar.

"Why would you think I would think there's anything wrong with you having sex with your boyfriend? You've loved him since forever --"

"I mean," Alex stumbled, wishing somehow she would go back to being an avenging angel on his behalf, rather than his prying, eagle-eyed friend, "We're not doing that. Not yet."

Maria's frown was nearly comical at this point: "Are you waiting until your _wedding day_ , Alex?"

He could feel Kyle lean over between the seats, his face beside Alex's shoulder.

"You're not having sex with Michael. Since when?"

"Seven weeks --"

"Seven _weeks_ \--" Kyle spluttered. "I mean, I'm not here to judge, but _why?_ "

Maria's face had that delighted look, when she was hearing and returning juicy gossip: "Yeah, Alex, why aren't you having sex with your boyfriend?"

Her face fell then -- "Unless it's like -- an injury thing --"

Alex shook his head: "No it's --I was lucky, not to be hurt in that way. Michael and I, we're good at sex. We're great at it. But once I got back, we kept falling into bed rather than communicating. I was keeping him a secret and it was hurting him, Maria. I was hurting him and he wasn't going to tell me to stop. So I went over one night, because it's really hard to fucking sleep without him near me, and the morning came and I was going to sneak out and I just -- I couldn't do it. He was so guarded with me, like he was just expecting me to leave him again, _use_ him again. And I --" he shook his head. "I just didn't want to do that anymore. Not to someone I love."

He took a breath, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel: "And I had been trying to decide if I was going to finish my 20 in the Air Force or leave at the end of this contract and I realized -- I couldn't do both. I couldn't be with Michael, with an alien with a record as long as his unpaid bar tab and be an officer and I realized, when it came down to it, I wanted Michael more than I wanted the uniform. I was tired of living the version of my life Jesse Manes designed for me when I was 12 and I wanted to try something different. So when Michael suggested we have ground rules, to try to have a real relationship, I thought -- sure. Nothing else has worked, every other version of this has felt like peeling my skin off and walking into a windstorm. Maybe some guardrails will keep us from hurting each other."

Maria's face had softened as he said more in those few miles than he thought he'd ever said about his life to anyone other than Michael. It felt a bit like stripping naked and a bit like being wrapped in a big warm towel -- exposed and comforted, all at the same time, to share.

Maria's voice was kind when she asked: "So, no sex. What are the other rules?"

Alex ticked them off on his hand at the top of the wheel: "Rule one: No sex until I'm a civvie. Rule two: We tell our families. Rule three: no sleepovers unless one of us really needs it. Rule four: we go on real dates. Rule five: communicate."

"So, last night --" Maria started.

"Michael'd just found out that he might have family alive in the world, trapped in some horror show of my family's making. And I knew I was going to have to pretend to have killed him, to keep up a hetero front in front of my shittiest brother," he quirked his mouth, "It fits the definition of needing a sleepover pretty well."

"I could see that," Maria said. She sat back in her seat, fingers tapping on the window. "So how long do you have left?"  


"Five weeks, five days," he checked the clock, "17 hours."

"Seventeen hours, huh?" Maria asked and Alex nodded, feeling his cheeks heat again.

His felt his voice become prim: "Michael's very precise."

Maria snorted, then snorted again, then a laugh escaped, and then she was full-on losing it in the front seat. She held up a hand, getting herself under control.

"I'm just trying to square your vision of Michael with the brawling drunk I've been watching sneak vodka into his bourbon for a decade."

Alex frowned -- "Vodka into his -- oh, that's nail polish remover."

And this, more than the telekinesis, more than the journey to an alien prison, this was the detail that made Maria DeLuca's mouth drop open. "'Nail polish remover?'"

Kyle answered: "They drink it to ease pain -- it's like an anesthetic for them."

Maria's eyes were wide and Kyle held-up his hands: "It weirds me out too. You'll get used to it though."

Maria nodded, this time slowly. "It always seemed a weird way to sneak alcohol into a bar. Like, a flask is practically a fashion statement with the ten-gallon-hat boys, but for a man who's never seen in the inside of a nail salon, whipping out a bottle of remover always seemed a strange quirk."

Alex's voice was soft: "It's not that I think love conquers all, but since we've been together, he seems to have cut back the drinking."

Maria nodded, eyes bright: "Yeah, that's how I knew you two were serious. Usually, with his flings, they begin, unfold, and end in a stead flood of liquor."

Alex shook his head: "I don't think I needed to know that."

"Sorry," Maria said, not sounding sorry.

There was a pause, then she said, voice careful and warm: "But it's good? You and him?"

Alex nodded, a soft smile creeping onto his face: "It's really good, Maria. I missed being able to tell you about it. I'm sorry again for ghosting you."

"You should be." She said, voice firm. Then she relented: "So, you said you were building a ship to go back to Antar. Is that something happening as soon as you're a civvie or in 10 years or --"

Kyle tapped the shoulder of Alex's chair and Alex threw a glare at him as he said: "Yeah, I've been wondering that too. Michael's always cagey on the timeline, said it depends on the bridge crew."

For all he, Michael, Liz, Kyle, Isobel, and Max had been working closely together these past few weeks, this was something he'd never quite found the right time to discuss with the whole group. He and Michael had talked about it being done in a year, but that was assuming everyone in their group agreed to go.

He figured he might as well try explaining now: "The ship -- the ship that Michael, Isobel, and Max crashed down in -- requires a crew of 7 to pilot it."

He saw Maria tapping her fingers, counting out to 7. When he glanced over, he saw her eyes were serious, considering.

"You want us to go with you. To the stars, to Anwar --"

" -- Antar -- " Alex and Kyle broke in.

"And to leave everything behind?"

Alex shook his head: "No one's decided for sure yet. But there are seven stations on the control --"

Maria cocked her head, detail catching her imagination: "What roles do you see us each in?"

Alex tapped them out on his fingers: "We've got captain, executive officer, comms, engineer, medical, helm, and security." He glanced back, "Kyle's medical, Isobel's comms, Michael's engineering, Liz's helm, Michael's security, you're XO and I'm the captain."

She closed her eyes, considering: "What if you need to be, Anataran, to be the captain?"  
  
Alex shrugged: "Then Michael's the captain, I'm the XO, Liz is engineering, you're helm, Isobel's comms, Max is security, Kyle's medical. Every role is important, everyone needs to work together. In the Air Force, you serve a range of different roles before getting your own ship, and you might go from being a captain to staff for a colonel, to being a captain again within a few years. They're fluid roles once you have the right experience."

"And how could we get the experience we need to do something like fly an alien spaceship?" Maria asked and Alex smiled grimly, seeing the gates approaching.

"Doing exactly what we're doing. Improvising."

\--

The gate guards were expecting them and Flint was standing, square shouldered and narrow-eyed as they climbed out of the truck.

Alex spoke before he reached him, hand going out for him to shake, braced for the knuckle-crusher he knew was coming.

"Flint. You know Kyle and Maria." The trick to getting past a knuckle-crusher handshake is to get in tight and grip the meat of their palm, not giving them enough room to try and break your knuckles. Alex had a lifetime's experience, but still Flint tried.

When he pulled his hand back, Alex's smile was fixed on his face as Flint tried to subtly shake his hand out.

"Let's start with a facility overview and then I want to inspect the stock."

Flint nodded, taking off at a pace he must have known Alex couldn't comfortable match with his cane down the dusty track to the high-security door in the middle of the beige-walled prison. But Alex had played this game too and just walked at his normal pace. Flint was stuck waiting at the door for an awkward amount of time while the guard stared at him. He followed Alex's pace down the grey concrete hallway, speaking in a low growl:

"The facility was brought into use in 1947, after the crash. There were originally over a hundred of the creatures. Half died in the first year," Alex knew he was going to be keening, shaking with the horrifying reality of what Flint was telling him. But not now. Now he was stone. He kept going, "Granddad, he came in on the project in the beginning. He designed the evaluation protocol, figured out their different abilities, methods of manipulation." 

He shook his head, face contorting for a moment, "Some of the early doctors were soft, insisted on trying to integrate these monsters into society. A few went out, most ended-up on rez's, but Granddad shut it down pretty quickly, convinced the brass they were worth more as experiments than they could ever be worth out there." Alex felt nauseous but kept pace.

Flint badged his way through an entrance, coming to a room filled with computers. Alex scanned them, seeing Antaran language on the screens, schematics for a bomb, things he couldn't process fast enough. He _had_ to get access to these files.

"A lot of them were old when they got on their ship from wherever, so they died at the end of their lifespans, which is about the same as ours. By the time Dad came in, there were about three dozen. Now, there's a dozen left."

Flint logged into a laptop and spent a moment tapping, pulling up a single-page document, with a grid of 12 faces. "We don't know why these ones survived and the others their age didn't. It's not about power: some of their powers are particularly monstrous, some are weak. Maybe they have something to live for that the others didn't."

He shrugged: "Not my department."

Alex leaned in, trying to memorize their faces. He could feel Maria and Kyle watching him, seeing him play this character. But when he met Maria's eyes. he saw nothing but understanding. He felt more solid than he had since he'd stepped into this horror show and when he spoke, he was both glad and disgusted his voice was so flat, reasonable: "I'll need access to these files to get up to speed."

Flint shook his head: "We're on air-gap only here. No networks in or out."

Alex paused, looking around the room. That explained why he hadn't seen Flint's name in any of his father's records. "Then I'll need a download."

Flint handed him a brick-sized harddrive: "Already prepped. Just keep it on a secure computer."

Alex scoffed, feeling a version of himself at 17 slip over his facade: "I think I've got that part handled, Flint."

Flint almost rolled his eyes but then caught himself.

"You wanted to inspect the stock?"

Alex nodded, following him out into the hallway. Alex stayed apace with Maria and Kyle, both of whom were looking green. He handed the harddrive to Kyle, to slipped it in his backpack. Kyle spoke in a low whisper: "If I can do a non-invasive physical exam, I'll have a lot more information than if we're just looking at them through cameras."

"Got it," Alex said, following Flint through a massive metal door that clanged behind them after they passed through it.

They were in a cell block that smelled like bleach and dust, the top two tiers dark, only the ground floor with lighted cells. He saw shapes vaguely moving through them, the scarred plexiglass-like material making it hard to make-out their features at this distance.

Flint turned around, raising his hands, looking at Kyle and Maria: "I don't know what Captain Manes has told you, but these creatures are deadly and they're liars. Whatever they tell you, whatever you see, don't believe it."

Kyle stepped forward: "I'll need to examine one of them."

Flint's face creased in disgust: "Some of these freaks will kill you if you so much as go in the room with them. There's only three who I can authorize you to interact with."  
  
Alex wandered past him, letting Kyle make his argument. They were -- old. He'd known this, but somehow, it was particularly horrible, watching elders wander in cold, concrete rooms, lie on hard beds with lank hair and pained, vacant eyes.

One woman stood at the door of her cell, body square, eyes steady. She was bald, whether because they shaved her to dehumanize her or because of how she was treated or maybe that's just how Antaran women aged. Alex had no way of knowing. He stepped towards her, her eyes flickering up and down his body.

He heard Flint approach. "Valenti can examine her. Captain Manes, I need to discuss something with you."

Alex nodded as Flint opened the door and escorted Kyle in before shutting the door. Maria was wandering the room, looking into each cell, hands going to the glass, pressing her strong fingers against each one and holding for a long breath, whether the occupant noticed or not.

Flint drew Alex to a corner of the room. He kept his back to the wall, his eyes on Maria and Kyle, not wanting to be separated.

Flint's voice was a harsh whisper: "You need to keep Kyle away from the files."

Alex frowned, glancing to the cell where Kyle had his hands up and the woman stood in front of him, slowly raising her hands as well like she was preparing to dance with him. He was speaking in a low murmur; she wasn't speaking at all.

"Why," Alex whispered. Flint's face did something painful and he turned his shoulder from Kyle, like the extra distance would give him space.

"You know Jim Valenti did this work with Dad?"

Alex nodded, eyes still on Kyle. Flint continued, voice cold: "Well, he got soft. He had to be liquidated. One of these freaks makes anything that touches it gets violent, rapid cancer. It was the simplest solution."

Alex turned horror-filled eyes to his brother before shuttering them. "Did Dad know about it?"  
  
Flint's eyes were steely: "He was the one who pushed him in. _Dad_ knew the importance of the mission."

Alex tightened his jaw: "And he trusted me to carry on the legacy. After Kyle is done, I'm going to need to review the security systems to ensure they're adequate. How are you all drawing power for all of this? I assume the power company doesn't run lines out here."

Flint's smirk moved away from cruelty and towards something like genuine enthusiasm: "We've got the engine of their ship. It's like a nuclear reactor, but it's fusion-based. We got it working again in the 1960s and it's been running clean and green ever since." He looked around: "Our scientists estimate it could power every house from Albuquerque to Chicago if we could figure out a way to hook it into the grid without anyone asking questions."

Alex stored that away for later. Maria was standing at a door where the occupant -- an older man missing one of his two brown eyes -- was holding up his hand to the glass. There was no tell-tale red glow, but Maria shuddered once, twice, and Alex was at her side, hand on her arm. As soon as he touched her, he heard it too, watching the man's eyes as he heard his voice inside his mind:

_"They are safe then? Our children?"  
_

_Maria's voice: "They are, sir. Safe and good people."_

_There was the sound of a smile in his voice: "And how will we see them again? I would never wish to see them here --"_

_Maria again: "Never. What do you and the others need to live outside of these walls?"_  

_A considering pause. "There is one who cannot be touched. Others who will need significant care before they can function. Others of us have waited for our freedom for a lifetime and can wait a little longer to ensure that when we leave, we will never return. We must become free in a manner that allows us to remain free."_

 Alex tried to speak with his mind, but had no idea how to manage the trick of it. 

The man's eyes turned to him and there was an understanding.

_"Your friend caught on very quickly. It might take you some practice. But I can see in your thoughts, you have one of us with whom you can practice."_

 Alex felt his eyes getting massive as the sound of the man's voice chuckling filled his mind:

_"I remember those curls. Your colleague, the doctor, is examining his mother. She will be very glad to see him, once we are free."_

Alex's heart wrenched in his chest, tears springing to his eyes that he commanded himself not to let fall. There was no way he could keep Maria and Kyle safe if he was crying but, oh, it was a struggle. There was a feeling of warmth, like someone had put an arm across his shoulders.

" _The other two, their parents sent them ahead. They were never on the ship. Their parents were my friends, I was supposed to watch after them. But,"_

Here his kind voice grew darker, the concern in it making Alex's gut clench.

_"I see in your minds a fourth of our kind, in a relationship with Mariel's daughter. But he has not told you he is one of us?"_

  _Maria sounded shocked: "Noah?"_

There was a pause, a look of pain moving across the man's face.

_"His power's were parasitic, cruel, much like his character. Any person can reform in a lifetime, but if he is concealing his true nature, I fear he has not. Beware of him. Mariel's daughter deserves better than to be taken-in by one such as him."_

Alex heard the beat of Flint's boots as he approached them. It had been spare moments they had been standing there, but he had one thing he needed to try to share. He couldn't figure out how to share the words, but he thought of an image as hard as he could -- the console, nearly completed, Michael's smiling face, the Milky Way hanging above them.

_"We fled a brutal war, but that was a lifetime ago. Perhaps there is peace again on Antar. I would love to see it."_

 And Alex broke his grip, broke his connection through Maria, wheeling on Flint, trying to give Maria a moment to pull away, to say whatever words of comfort or promise she could find. He was fresh out.

"Before I go, I'm going to need paper copies of each of their files. Is there someone who can prepare that?"

Flint nodded, pulling out his phone and placing a call, stepping to the side. Alex moved towards where Kyle was still in the cell with the woman Alex now knew was Michael's Mom. He looked at her and there must have been something in his expression, his face, because she pulled her hands from Kyle's -- whose face as about as open and pained as Alex had ever seen it -- and moved to the door. 

She held up her palm to the door and Alex pressed his there.He felt a jerk and for the briefest flashes of a moment, it was as if the door dissolved between them and her fingers were lacing between his. He saw --

Michael's face as a child --

The ship crashing, her shoving him and Max and Isobel into pods --

Her face, as a young woman, smiling, with so much love in her eyes --

And then the strange glass was back between them, their hands separated, but he could _feel_ her in his mind now, could feel her searching for images of Michael. He tried to bring up good ones for her, keeping private what he could:

Michael sitting wrong on the couch --

Michael cooking over the stove --

Michael staring up into the projections of his people's language --

Michael turning around after he carved the hot spring from living stone --

Michael smiling at him over his guitar in the toolshed --

She took a long, deep breath, shoulders relaxing, eyes gentle. She nodded to him and stepped back, hands going to her sides as Kyle stepped forward. Flint approached, calling-out in a too loud voice: "All done there, doc?"

And Kyle nodded, face grim Flint keyed-open the door and he stepped out. There was something in his face like a ticking time bomb, something of that explosive power that had earned him his ride to Michigan, a violence controlled -- until it wasn't.

Alex needed to get them out of here before Kyle blew their cover.

"Do you have the print-outs?" He demanded and Flint nodded, a young soldier rushing towards them, a banker's box of binders in her arms.

Alex kept his voice even: "We're done here for today. I'll be back, same time, next week. Make sure they stay stable between now and then. No experiments are authorized until I give the go-ahead."

"But, we're in the middle of a trial --" Flint started and Alex stopped, feet planted, shoulders square. He put every ounce of command training he'd been given into his next works, eyes boring into his brother's: "I do not authorize any experiments, continuing or new. Dad trusted me to make this call; the brass trusted me to make this call. Are you going to disobey a direct order?"

And Flint -- he blanched, taking a half-step back before steadying himself. "No, Captain Manes. I will cancel this afternoon's final experiments and keep the specimens in stable condition."

"Good." Alex said, and marched as quickly as he could towards the daylight.

\--

The drive back was silent. About 20 minutes in, there was the sound of muffled sobbing and Alex glanced over, seeing Maria's face in her hands. Kyle reached around the seat to pat her on the back, but her sobs just got harder and harder. Alex pulled to the side of the dusty desert highway andflung himself out of the driver's seat, circling the car nearly as fast as it took Kyle to get out of the back seat. They pulled Maria out, wrapping their arms around her and each other, their breathing hard and their bodies shaking under the scorching mid-day sun. 

When her breathing had calmed, it was Kyle who was first to speak: "The woman I examined, she was --"

"Michael's mother," Alex finished. "The other man told us."

"I _saw_ her," Kyle said, "I _saw_ her as a young woman and, Alex, the things they did to them --"

Alex shook his head.

"We need to write-down what we saw, while it's fresh. You two go first, I need to clear my head with driving. Then we can tell the group all at once. Try to control how much trauma this is going to cause."

"There's no good way to say 'your Mom has been in prison for 70 years just up the road,' Michael,'" Maria said.

Alex nodded, face numb: "I know. I know. But I wouldn't want to find out from a text, and I don't think he would either."

Maria's brown eyes were damp, but underneath the tears was a fire Alex had never seen there before: "We _have_ to get them out of there."

Alex nodded: "We will."

\--

When Maria took over driving so Alex could write-down his notes, he opened Signal first, seeing dozens of messages there. It looked like Maria had been updating the group on their progress, sending pictures of the drive in. On the way back, all she'd written was: 

 

> Maria: There are aliens there and though it's not ok, they are not in immediate danger. We should go over it all together tonight at Alex's.
> 
> Maria: *Alex & Michael's.

\--

Alex saw Michael sitting on the porch, Max and Liz and Isobel beside him, beers dangling from all of their fingers. They looked haggard, exhausted, and all he can see is their faces as children, the way Michael's Mom had tucked Isobel's hair behind her ear, had given Max an extra hug before pushing him into the pod. And there was Michael, striding towards the car, hair flying in the brisk afternoon wind, and Alex was tumbling out and into his arms.

They were _strong_ and _solid_ and _there_. He wasn't trapped behind bars; he wasn't being experimented on. He was _free_ and _safe_ and having seen another future for him, Alex knew then he would do anything, give _anything_ to keep it that way. He felt his body begin to shake, heard as though through a thick metal door, Michael's voice:

"Hey, hey, I'm here. You're safe. I've got you."

Alex nodded. "I've got you too. I'm never going to let you go, Michael. _Never._ "

Michael's arms tightened around him. Over Michael's shoulder, Alex saw Liz wrapping Maria up in a similar hug. He watched Max slowly approach Kyle with his arms out before seeing his head shake and handing him a beer instead. Then he closed his eyes, buried his face in Michael's shirt and smelled the safe, home smell of him, trying to breathe out every physical reminder of the prison. But the sound of the door followed him, the sound of his brother's boots on the concrete, and the bleach-and-dust smell.

He pulled back, feeling his face falling into harsh lines as he said: "Let's go inside. We have work to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life and so helpful for thinking through all of the pieces involved in this piece. This thing that was going to be a one shot, then done in a week, and is such fun to write-in and enjoy with you all.


	19. Five Weeks, Five Days, 13 Hours

"I think we're going to need some liquor before we get started," Alex said as he shepherded the entire group into the house, Michael's arm tight around his waist. Maria was already headed to the refrigerator, pulling out a sixer of PBR Max must have brought over, because Alex certainly didn't remember buying it.

Liz stepped-up beside Maria at the open fridge door, whistling low: "Guerin, you've done good work here. We've got more than enough to feed and water everyone here." 

She opened the freezer, pausing:  "Wait -- why are you keeping beef in the freezer? It's going to get freezer burn way before you use it and it's a bitch to thaw."

Alex looked at Michael's face, but it was blank, like he was listening to something they couldn't hear. Liz stepped a little closer: "I would think someone with your skills would know better --"

He finally rose to the bait: "It only takes a long time to thaw if you don't pre-dice it. That's raw flank, cut into cubes for a stew. It'll thaw in the broth in the same time it would take regular beef to cook."

She smiled and Alex felt Michael's body realign, come back to the present. "Do you mind if I get a stew going? I think we're going to need some non-liquid calories."

Michael nodded -- "You know where everything is."

Liz called over her shoulder: "Max, there's some veggies I need you to chop."

Max sauntered over as Maria was speaking in a low voice to Isobel. Alex had an idea about what, but he --

"I need to change before we do this," he paused, looking at Michael, "Want to keep me company?"

Michael nodded, eyes still a little distanced. But he kept his hand on Alex's side, fingers moving in a gentle, senseless pattern as they worked their way down the quiet hallway.

Once they were in the room, Michael breathed a sigh, sagging down against the door until he was sitting with his knees protectively in front of him.

"It was bad?" He said, and Alex paused, hands on his shirt. He really did need to change, get the stink of bleach and dust and fear out of his clothes before he could feel more normal, but Michael needed to know. He used the wall rail to lower himself to the ground beside Michael, kneeling. There was a terrible distance, seeing Michael's mind racing and Alex had no idea how to tell him what he'd seen, how much it would hurt, how much he was going to wreck Michael's world -- and how to help him see how much hope Alex had now.

He reached out his hands and Michael took them, gnarled left fingers gripping his calloused hands tight, even as Michael looked everywhere but into his eyes.

He started with the biggest thing: "Michael, your Mom is alive."

And it was -- it was like what Alex imagined watching a starship crash to earth looked like. A shudder, then a sliver of light blooming from inside, then a crack, then more light, and there, there, and there -- it was Michael pulling him in, bodies jostling and finding room as everything in the room lifted a few inches off the group and began to orbit, coins whizzing like comets, books turning on their axes, the bed gently hovering. And in the middle of it, Michael Guerin, cracking to pieces under his fingertips.

"Is she -- is she --"

"She's alive, Michael. Everything else can come after that, but you need to know she's alive. And she remembers you and, Michael, she loves you so, so very much."

Michael's voice broke in a sob against his shoulder, hands gripping Alex's back as he tried to hold on, closing his eyes against the whirling chaos in the room, trusting Michael to keep him safe. 

He murmured into his hair, tangled and curls tickling his face: "There are a dozen of them, all alive. There were more, so many more, but my family --"

Michael shook his head: "You're my family. Fuck the Manes man bullshit, you are not responsible for what your family did."

Alex wanted to shelve that for further discussion but Michael kept going:

"You are _good_ Alex. You _are_. You came from such a shitty situation and you do _nothing_ but try to protect people from it, from you, from what you came from. But you didn't cause that. You didn't cause the crash, you didn't build the prison --"

"We're going to get them out, Michael. All of them."

Michael nodded, breath easing soft and warm against Alex's neck: "I know we will, love. I know it."

\--

They left the bedroom in utter disarray to rejoin the others. Isobel and Maria were huddled together on the carpet by the fireplace, where a crackling fire is shaping the bodies in the room with warm and easy light. There was a colorful ceramic platter beside them with strawberry tops and peach-pits -- probably Max's version of a comforting hug. Liz and Max were in the kitchen, hands gentle on each other's backs as they murmur together.

Kyle was sitting on the couch, feet on the floor, bent over his phone. Alex peaked over his shoulder and finds he's deep into a game of Two Dots. He and Michael moved to the kitchen on soft stocking feet:

"How's it going?" Alex asked in an undertone.

Liz glanced over at him: "After Maria told Isobel about Noah -- and woah is that going to take some processing -- Kyle asked that we hold off until we'd eaten. Said something about processing being better in a comfortable space."

Alex nodded, glancing over at Michael. His eyes were wide, but he'd gone for a glass of water from the tap rather than another beer. There was something like hope in his eyes, a kind of shining hope he hadn't expected to see today.

He glanced in the pot: "That looks amazing."

Liz preened: "Michael's keeping a good kitchen here. I had everything I needed. I can serve now if you and he can get the table set."

Alex smiled and headed over to the cupboard with the plates. This was becoming a familiar dance, filling the table and their home with the people they loved. Alex grabbed 7 plates and laid them out at the table. He caught Maria's eye and watched as she eased Isobel up, Michael's normally clockwork-composed sister looking like her strings had been cut. Maria guided her with gentle hands to the table, brought her water, and sat beside her.

Liz brought out a thick-sided bowl filled to the brim with hot stew and Michael laid out a cutting board with hot buttered bread; Alex recognized it as the frozen bread they kept in case of having to feed a lot of people all at once.

Alex took the seat at the head of the table, Michael on his right and Maria on his left. He looked to Liz and Max: "Thank you for feeding us."  
  
Liz smiled and Kyle sat down heavily across from her: "Thank you everyone for waiting. I know it has been a shit day."

There were emphatic nods around the table as everyone took turns serving each other from the central bowl. They took a few moments to get into their food together, the tink of spoons in handmade bowls matching the ticks and pops of the fire behind the grate.

Alex was gearing-up to get them started once everyone was served, but to his surprise, Maria wavered away from Isobel, laid down her spoon in her thick red bowl, and laid her hands palm-up on the table.

"Alex told me your story yesterday," she began. "And I now we know there is more to it." She paused, looking at Max and Michael, eyes connecting with Liz and Kyle.

"Actually, I think there's three stories around this table. The first is the one Alex told me: in 1947, a UFO crashed. Three children were saved, preserved for a half-century, then let out into the world. Some cared for," she put a careful hand on Isobel's back, and nodded to Max, "and some not," she met and held Michael's eyes.

"Today, we learned a different story. In 1947, a spaceship of refugees from a war on another world crashed. Over a hundred Antarans survived," and Liz gasped, hand going to Max's shoulder, eyes wide and horrified as he tried to hold onto his composure. "This story is a tragedy, because over the next 70 years, they were hurt by the US government, by Kyle and Alex's fathers and grandfathers, by a lot of fathers and grandfathers in Roswell. Today, there are only a dozen survivors of both that crash and their cruel xenophobia." Isobel's body jerked and Maria gathered her against her shoulder, letting the taller woman grip her shirt, fist it until Alex was worried the fabric would tear.

"What's the third story?" Came Michael's voice, and it was low, pained but steady. Alex reached over, gripping his hand, and Michael returned the grip, warm and strong and here.

Maria nodded, hand still smoothing Isobel's hair, holding her rocking against her.

"Once upon a time, there were over a hundred refugees from a far-off world who came to Earth looking for sanctuary. Their children found it, found each other, found people on this strange world to love and who loved them in return. They rescued their parents and elders from an internment camp, brought them to a safe place, and helped them heal. When they were ready, the children took those who they loved back into the stars, to see if the land their parents had fled as being too fallow for gentle things like children was prepared to welcome life again. Perhaps the children find a peaceful world and, together, brought the best of Earth and the best of Antar together. Perhaps their home is not ready to allow them to grow, and they return to earth, to care for their elders and to grow a new world amongst them and those they love."

Isobel's sob broke through and Michael was up, chair moving back as he moved to wrap her up in his arms, Max following moments later.

Maria paused, speaking slowly: "But the last story isn't as simple as that. Because when the children's friends first found their elders in prison, the elders warned them there was a fourth alien, one who hurt others, who used his incredible powers to possess, to feed, who had been hiding amongst them. Like people from Earth, Antarans could be good and bad and everything in between. This man was cruel, though he wore a kind face. The face of a lover." She looked down at Isobel. "The face of a partner."

Michael and Max reacted harshly -- Michael pulling himself back, stumbling to Alex who wrapped his arm around his waist to keep him upright. "Noah? Iz's blackouts?"

Max clutched Isobel tighter to him, hands what must have been painfully tight around her shoulders. "Oh, Iz, I am so sorry," he whispered.

From within his arms, Alex heard Isobel's voice and in it held some of the power he'd felt from her that day in the junkyard, he'd seen hiding under her pale skin and perfect make-up.

"That _bastard_ lied to my face. To all of us. He's going to fucking pay."

Michael's face was in furious agreement but Kyle raised-up his hand. "We need to parallel track the two problems. One: we need to get the dozen out of Caulfield as quickly and safely as possible. Two: we need to protect ourselves and them from Noah." He looked around the table, from Isobel's tear-stained face to Michael's reddening one.

He seemed to make a decision: "Liz and Max, can you focus on Noah? Alex, Michael, Isobel, Maria, and I can work on going through the Caulfield files, trying to figure out what care each of the survivors needs."

Maria's head was shaking, some of her resolve cracking: "I hate to slow-down our momentum, but -- longterm care is really expensive. We would need trained nurses, an environment where those whose powers are out of control can't hurt themselves or others. All of that costs money."

And Isobel shook her long hair out, eyes as fierce from within her ruined mascara as they had ever been from behind it: "I'll sell my house. It, plus Noah's savings, should cover at least a year of care. I can move-in with Max until I figure something else out --"

"You're welcome here --" Alex started, Michael nodding beside him.

But Isobel shook her head: "I think we're going to need this place for something else. What do you think of replacing that shed out back with something a little bigger? Say, a dozen rooms?"

And Alex could see it, could see it in a way he'd never been able to see this place. Could see it becoming a sanctuary for the hurt people he'd seen on the base. If they could find a way to make it safe for them and for everyone else, with the hot spring, the isolated location -- it could work. He looked at Michael, thinking of the deed he'd had his lawyer draw-up with Michael's name on it, that he was saving for a special occasion but whose truth he was already living.

"I think that's the best idea I've heard in a while,"

And Michael's eyes filled, his face contorting, trying to keep the tears from falling, and he managed it, barely, but he managed it, nodding once, jaw tight.

Liz broke in: "It's been a hell of a day for everyone here and we have a lot of research to do --"

Alex spoke-up: "I told Flint I would be back in a week. That gives us a deadline."

Kyle nodded: "Let's finish dinner, clean-up, and then we can get started."

Michael pressed a hot hand to the back of Alex's neck, eyes holding something soft and serious, as he sat beside him and dug into his bowl, hand steady on Alex's.

\--

The Milky Way trembled and shimmered above Alex and Michael as they floated alone in the deepest part of the hot spring, linked by their tightly-gripped hands. The desert wind was cool across their faces and hands where they hovered in the starshine-filled water, their breathing steady and even.

Isobel had gone home with Maria, unable to face Noah until they had a clearer plan. Max and Liz and Kyle had headed home the third time Max had almost fallen asleep on Liz's laptop, the stress of the day taking it out of him. He'd been wondering aloud how much he could heal of the kind of pain their elders had endured, mind and body exhausted from it.

Now it was just them. There was a part of Alex that wanted to brew a pot of thick, black coffee and just -- grind through the night. Learn as much as he could about the horror show that was his family's legacy.

But Michael had caught him around the waist as soon as Kyle had clicked the door shut, muffled his voice in his shoulder, curls brushing against Alex's neck, and murmured: "I need to see the stars."

And so they were here, bodies held-up weightless in the dark, unseeing water of the hot spring, the language of Michael's family all around them, and the starscape leading him home above.

His voice was painfully quiet, almost swallowed by the thrumming of the waterfall when he asked: "What is my mother like?"

And Alex wished, he _yearned_ , just for a moment, for powers like Isobel's, so he could show Michael her smiling face, her kind blue eyes, the hope she held in her gnarled hands.

He closed his eyes, trying to use words to describe the best of what he'd seen. "She's beautiful, Michael. Your smile, your jaw, your hands. She loves you so much. She showed me you when you were small; you were," and Alex caught a laugh before it broke into the open air, hearing it filling his voice: "You were small and missing teeth and so, so happy with her. She kept you safe, kept all of you safe."

Michael eased himself down, bracing himself on the central rock as Alex followed him. They hung together in the dark water, and Alex traced the beloved curves and lines of Michael's face, seeing in it for the first time a line of ancestors. He wasn't a single leaf, swirling on the side of highway after highway; he was connected to a great tree,a powerful group of people who loved and cared for him as a child, who might still be able to hold and grow with him, to make-up for stolen years.

Michael's hand came up to Alex's cheek, eyes wondering: "She loved me?"

" _Loves_ ," Alex replied fiercely, hand pressing Michael's hand tighter to his wet skin, "She _loves_ you, Michael."

Michael looked away, face uncertain: "She doesn't even know me."

Alex shook his head, his hand going to the side of Michael's neck, thumb stroking down the big tendon there, feeling his muscles tense and then just, relax. "She knows you, Michael. She saw you in my mind. She knows you're brilliant and hardworking and kind, knows you're gentle and loving and sweet. She knows you love and care for Max and Isobel. She knows," Alex choked, feeling his throat constrict and Michael made a noise, moving closer to him, leg anchoring them closer, "She knows you love me. I hope that's ok, I didn't know how not to show her --"

And Michael's lips were on his, soft and undemanding, not pushing, but drawing him out, drawing him in. His voice was a rough whisper, only for Alex's ears, when he said: "If I had to tell someone only one thing about me, just one, to try to explain to them the best of who I am, I would tell them that I love you, Alex Manes."

Alex closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of Michael's chest against his, hand on his cheek, body here and safe and with him.

"I love you so much, Michael."

Michael leaned in, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear, "I love you too."

\--

They toweled off and made the long walk back to the house, arms around each other's waists. As they passed the toolshed, Alex closed his eyes, trusting Michael to keep them on the path, and imagined it, a golden-light filled house, the scared, bruised elders he'd seen today warm and full, round-cheeked and healthy, watched-over and loved. He couldn't think of a better use of that space.

He and Michael tucked each other into the big queen bed, laying side-by-side for a long minute. Then Michael turned on his side, giving Alex his back, and Alex slid his hands around his chest, resting a palm on the slow swell of his body before fitting his back and thighs to Michael's, easing in closer and closer until there wasn't a inch of space between them.

"Goodnight, love," Alex said.

"Goodnight, my love," Michael murmured back.

Alex closed his eyes, breathing in the warm, safe smells of the hot spring water in Michael's hair. It was no longer tangled after some gentle finger-combing in the hot spring and he thought of that little boy, the one with the gap-toothed smile. He thought of him and the man in his arms and the stars he'd fallen from as he drifted into soft and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life! Thank you so much to everyone who left such lovely comments last night! They mean so much to me. 
> 
> Also, I enticed one of my IRL friends into this fandom and she wrote her first Malex fic last night -- go on and check it out here and give her some love: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19198141


	20. Five Weeks, Four Days, 18 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, intergenerational work is important to me, as will come through in this fic. And it is so rewarding to work with and learn from and teach elders. But also sometimes it's really f-ing difficult. This week, my IRL volunteer work involved having to spend prepping to explain to a powerful elder in a community I'm a part of why a slur against queer people shouldn't be used in our public meetings and why he needed to censure the person who used it repeatedly. It was frankly exhausting and one reason 100% of the Antarans in this story are queer-friendly; because the real world has enough queer-phobia to fill several lifetimes and I'm not interested in digging into it here as well as in my daily life. I had to wear a *suit* today. That's how bad it was. And why I didn't keep my usual posting schedule.
> 
> But I won that fight with the backing of elders and new members of my community. The queerphobic guy in my community is going to get spanked (metaphorically), by someone he respects, and he's going to not do it again OR ELSE. Then I got to hangout with a queer lady friend; then I got to have a dinner with my family where my Mom explained to the table the inherent queerness in King David and Jonathan's relationship in the Old Testament (my Mom who has on various occasions in the past reminded me I am not queer as I am married to a dude-shaped person and is now A Way Better Ally Than Ever Before). All of which is to say: when we fight, sometimes we win. Things do get better. The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice -- because we bend it. Every f*ing day.
> 
> Fight on my beauties and my brains. And enjoy this lovely fluff.

Alex Manes had always known he was a bad puzzle piece. He didn't fit into his history classes when they talked about the "settlement of the West," because it was his mother's people being settled on. He didn't fit into biology class when they explained about evolution and procreation, because fuck if his textbook mentioned any of the hundreds of species that exhibited and benefitted from homosexuality. He didn't fit into the country music scene or the Southwest Casual clothing vibe or any story about a loving family. He certainly didn't fit into his father's idea of what it meant to be a man, much less his son.

The only place he'd ever felt like he fit was with Michael and with his friends. But after the night his father drove by Michael's truck, with a gun in one hand and the enlistment papers in the other, he found he couldn't fit with them either. Then the military changed his shape in a way that meant the few people with whom he used to fit didn't fit him right anymore.

But in 10 years, Michael had changed shape too. Grown harder and softer in different ways. And that night after Alex had come back from Caulfield, as they laid together in the queen bed they'd picked out in Albuquerque, the wrought-iron headboard with its roses and its thorns above him, Alex found that he fit perfectly in Michael's arms.  

He fit as Michael lay on his side, with Alex's arm around him, his hips close to Alex's, their breathing matching. He fit as Michael rolled over on his back and Alex slung leg over his hip, feeling Michael's dick and his both react to the closeness but also feeling no need to do anything in particular about them. He fit as he turned over on his side and Michael, still sleeping, followed him, laying his hand on the center of Alex's chest, like he was checking to make sure his heart was still close.

And he felt a different part of him fit as he lay on his back and Michael curled a leg over his legs, and the sure, heavy, steady weight of it anchored him, told him _this is where you are, this is where I put you._ And even sleeping, Michael could send him to that soft, down place, where the only things touching him were things that loved him and kept him safe. 

Alex didn't feel like a bad piece that night. And yeah, maybe he didn't sleep as well as he could have, with all of the rolling and the cuddling and the holding, but it filled a need in him other than the need for sleep. it filled a skin-hunger, a debt from a lifetime of rarely being touched with love.

Alex was mussily thinking about puzzle pieces and touching edges as the soft light of dawn filtered in through the blinds when he heard a firm knock on the front door. He eased himself off of where he lay flung across Michael's chest and pulled-on one of Michael's flannels as he faced the cool morning breeze.

Kyle looked him up and down, eyes big and clearly noting the flannel. His hair was mussed like he'd been yanking at it for hours, his scruff well-past his usual shadow, and his eyes wide and shock-y. He said: "I couldn't sleep. I had an idea about what we should do with Noah," he glanced over his shoulder, towards the bedrooms, "Michael still sleeping?"

Aled nodded, waving him into the kitchen.

"I still can't believe you guys aren't having sex," Kyle said. Alex shrugged. It was going to be great once they started, but there was something really special about the intimacy that had grown-up between them while they were waiting. Alex remembered suddenly, something he'd learned in a biology course, about a kind of flower that changes the color in which they bloomed based on the soil they were grown in: blue, purple, or white, depending on acidity. Same plants, same genetics; different ways of flowering based on context.

"Want some coffee?"

Kyle shook his head, shifting his weight from side-to-side: "I've been mainlining caffein all night; if I have another one, I think I might have a heart attack."

Alex gestured him to sit down: "Want some -- juice?"

Kyle collapsed into a chair at the table and nodded gratefully. Alex set him up, got some mango and orange juice out, glancing at the antique cedar box with its turquoise inlaid paisley designs, thinking about what was inside it and smiling, just a little.

Kyle started talking before the glass was full, voice growl-low and unsteady: "We don't know what Noah's powers are. Clearly mindfucking is part of it. Whatever we do, we need to keep him from hurting more people, from hurting Isobel again. If we put him in a pod, that solves that part."

Alex nodded, not interrupting, figuring Kyle needed to get this all the way out of his system.

"Ok, so, we just have to ambush him and put him in the pod. We don't want to kill him."

Alex shrugged. He wasn't interested in killing anyone but he could certainly understand if Isobel felt that way.

Kyle continued: "I don't think we should. That was our fathers' styles, it shouldn't be ours."

"Agreed."

"So he's in a pod, now what about the missing person's case? We can't let Isobel be implicated. So we need to find someone who can inject him with Liz's serum and then we can transport him to the cave. It can't be an Antaran, needs to be someone he doesn't suspect. Maybe Maria -- Isobel told me last night she couldn't get into Maria's head before. So maybe that's true for him too. So Maria will invite him to the Wild Pony, then shank him, we can drive him to the desert and the pod. Isobel fills the missing person's report in the morning, gives Max her statement, plays hurt wife for a while, then call it a day."

Alex's voice was gentle when he asked: "I thought Max and Liz were in charge of the Noah issue, and you were handling the Caulfield plan with the rest of us?"

Kyle slammed his hands down on the table, making his glass rattle, and then looked ashamed of himself, hands jittering on the table. "I _couldn't sleep_ , Alex. I kept thinking about those _people_ , trapped in that hellhole that _our fathers_ put them in. I watched the videos alone in the bunker last night, Alex. I saw what happened to my Dad, oh _God_ , Alex. Your Dad pushed him into one of the cells and the Antaran shook and was forced to touch him and he _screamed,_ Alex. I had to watch him _scream_. I saw -- I can't -- it's --"

Michael's voice came from the hallway as he walked quickly towards them: "Hey, Kyle, breathe, buddy."

Kyle shook his head, over and over, hard and harder: "You -- you should want me _dead_ , Guerin. Don't comfort me. I should, I need to --"

He stood, chair singing against the floor, swaying at he searched desperately for an exit. Michael strode forward and clamped his good hand around his elbow, steering him to the couch, pushing down on his shoulders until he put his head between his knees.

He gave Alex a sympathetic look and Alex came over, picking-up a blanket and wrapping it around Kyle's shoulders as he sat on his other side. Michael was tousle-haired, shirtless, PJs long enough that they were covering half his long, pale feet. Part of Alex wanted to bundle him back into bed, curl him away from this conversation; but Michael couldn't stand to see someone hurt in front of him without trying to help. It was something they'd always shared.

Kyle was muttering: " _You_ shouldn't be helping me. After what our father's did, after what _we_ let happen under our noses --"

And Michael interrupted: "Look, you getting wrapped around the axel about what your Dad did or didn't do isn't going to help anyone. Look, it's my family that he hurt, right?"

Kyle froze, not looking at Michael, not even breathing.

Michael kept going: "I'm not going to hold you accountable for your Dad. There's not going to be any traditional justice for us, just like there hasn't been for Alex. But I think my family needs your head in the game, not obsessing about what you would have done, could have done if you'd known something different, if your father had been different."

"It was against our family code." Kyle said, raising up enough to prop his chin on his folded arms.

"Yeah, it was. And it's something we're all going to work together to fix. Let's finish the conversation about Noah."

Alex reached over Kyle back, putting a hand on Michael's shoulder. He covered it with a small smile.

Alex started: "I'll text the Signal group and see what they think of Kyle plan: Liz brews some more serum, Maria injects Noah with it, then probably you and I, Michael, bring him to the pods."

Kyle broke in, sitting up a little more: "What if Noah can get out of the pods?'

Michael replied: "I can set-up the same cameras we put-up on the house when Jesse was coming around here. We'll have it on all of our phones, have times of say when we're supposed to keep and eye on him."

Alex kept going: "Then Isobel will file the missing persons report and we'll keep an eye on Noah going forward. Does that sound like your plan?"

Kyle nodded, his color already looking better.

Michael gripped Alex's hand: "So, now to Caulfield. What kind of protections and plans do we need to make to get the elders out of there? If the one that," he down at Kyle, then seemed to make a decision, "If the one that killed your Dad can do that just be being near another person, we are going to need to have some way of dampening their powers."

Kyle's voice sounded more even, more in control: "In most psychiatric situations, there's a concept of the 'least restrictive environment.' You evaluate what somebody wants and what they can handle, and then you create a least restrictive environment. There may be people at Caulfield who need to be in a pod situation, if they consent to it. After what I saw in the videos, I want the Antarans to have every chance at agency we can possibly give them."

Alex paused, then decided to just say it: "I'm really sorry you had to see your Dad die. That sounds horrible."

Kyle shook his head, face hard: "If he was condoning this, then he deserved it."

Alex flinched and glanced at Michael: "He shouldn't have done what he did."

Michael nodded, eyes serious.

Alex continued: "But I wish there had been a way for him to be held accountable without him dying. It was a bad death."

"There are no good deaths. He put them through decades of torture. Justice for him would have been the death penalty, but there was no way it would have seen the inside of a courtroom. So I guess I should thank Jesse Manes --"

Alex blanched and Michael said, voice hard: "Let's get back on track. What do we need to do?"

Kyle looked down at his lap, speaking to his hands on his knees: "I need to go back with Alex next week. I need to do an intake with each of the Antarans, confirm what I find in their medical records."

"You're asking Liz for help with the files?"  
  
Kyle frowned -- "I was just going to grind through them today --"

But Alex shook his head: "We need you to stay healthy, to stay stable, to do this right. All nighters, caffein binges, panic attacks -- that's trauma. We can't let what our fathers did eat away at us like that. We need to try to take care of each other while we do this."

Kyle looked stubborn, but at Alex's narrowed eyes, he nodded.  
  
"So, you're going to be interviewing the Antarans next week. What do you need from me?" Alex asked.

"I need," Kyle closed his eyes, rubbing his hand over his scruff like he was just realizing he hadn't shaved, "I need you to lay the groundwork that you have another facility that they can be moved to. Depending on what I," he paused, "what Liz and I find in the files, it's possible some of them could be moved as early as the next visit. The older man and," he finally glanced up at Michael before looking quickly away, the first time he'd made eye-contact with him that morning, "And your mother, Michael, I think they might be able to just leave immediately."

"Where do you think they should go?"  
  
"Two can go here, right?"

Michael nodded.

"And then three more to the hunting cabin. It's out of the way, quiet, has a bunker they can hide in if they need to. I can stay there with them. My apartment doesn't have any houseplants that I can't just bring with me. I'll evaluate the files with Liz, see if we can find five to move out ASAP."

Alex's wake-up alarm went off in the bedroom, making both Kyle and Michael jump. Alex groaned as he got up to go and deal with it.

When he came back in Michael was still sitting beside Kyle, not touching him, but keeping him company as he breathed.

"That was my usual alarm. I think Michael and I need to go to work."

Kyle nodded -- "I called out for the rest of the week. I told them I have -- I don't even remember what I told them." He rubbed his arms, looking like he was cold inside the blanket, "This is something I need to fix."

Michael's voice was gentle: "Again, we're not going to hold you accountable for your Dad."

Kyle didn't look relieved, but he looked a lot less in active-pain than he had before.

Alex looked down at him, curled around himself, holding himself apart. He went to stand in front of him: "If Liz was here, she'd give you a hug."

Kyle glanced up at him, eyes quizzical. 

"She's not here, so it's on us."

"You don't have to."

Michael's voice was soft: "We know we don't have to. We're offering. You spent the entire night trying to figure out how to save my family and you're going to spend the day doing it. You're hurting and don't deserve to be. A hug can help."

Kyle's eyes widened, then he frowned. He bit his lip, "Alright."

"Come here," Alex said. Kyle got up slowly, standing with his arms hanging awkwardly beside him.

Alex and Michael moved together, arms moving around him and around each other in slow motion, giving him ample opportunity to say no. He stayed still between them, shoulders knotted, but after Alex's second breath, he felt him relax.

"Feel better?" Alex asked as he pulled away, hand squeezing Michael's before letting it drop.

Kyle nodded, rolling his shoulders.

"Aright, I think we've got enough time for pancakes. You want to help Michael in the kitchen?"

Kyle nodded, steps stiff, but following Michael who gently teased him into getting out the chocolate chips and getting the butter heating on the stove as Alex wandered back down the hallway to take a quick bath.

\--

In the quiet of the bathroom, Alex let himself feel everything he'd been shelving since he'd gotten that text from his brother. The hot water yanked the fear, the pain, the horror, the guilt, the rough-edged sadness from him. The shaking hands of the old man, the steely hate in Flint's eyes, the cracked walls and flaking paint. The transparent-but-unbreachable-walls. Michael's hands on his shoulders, holding onto him as he sobbed for his mother. Kyle breaking to pieces trying not to mourn a father who he could only think of as a monster now. Alex thought of all it swirling around him in the too, too hot water, painful and ugly.

Then he jerked the drain open, listening to it all fill the pipes, go back out into the earth.

He let it move away from him; not all of it, he couldn't get that out in a few minutes, but the cresting, bitterest part. The cutting edges, dulled down.

He closed his eyes, moving the soap around his body absently. He loved having so many people in his life now, loved the life he and Michael were building here and together.

But sometimes having more people to love meant having more people to worry for, to mourn, to ache for when they mourned. He guessed it was part of loving people, feeling their joy as well as their pain. He pulled his knees to his chest, getting his foot and stump, all of the parts of him he needed to feel more human.

He turned the water back on, a more human temperature, and rinsed off before putting the plug back in the drain. He felt the water ease up around him, filling the spaces in between. He was nearly dozing off when he heard Michael call through the door:

"You making soup in there?"

Alex shook his head, levering himself up to the edge of the tub, draining it again.

"I'm going to eat your pancakes!" Yelled Kyle from the kitchen.

"Give me minute!" Alex shouted back, toweling himself off. 

He paused for a minute, looking at the art tiles he'd picked-out for the floor, how they fit into each other even when they were different sizes and shapes and colors. He thought about that image that had haunted him for most of his life, of being the wrong kind of puzzle piece. Then he heard Michael and Kyle's voices murmuring from out in the kitchen and felt his face stretch in a smile. Maybe the trick wasn't finding a way to fit into a puzzle; maybe they could all make their own mosaic, together.

"Seriously, Valenti is going to eat every last one of these --"

"Coming!"

\--

Maria and Liz readily agreed to their parts in the Noah extraction plan. Alex saw how hard Michael took not being the point person on it and filled his phone with the dumbest alien memes he could find on the internet during his lunch break to try and distract him, watching his responses work their way from a (: to a :) to a :D to, finally, XD. Finally, a row of hearts greeted him and Alex felt his duty had been done and he could go back to work.

They all met after work in the back alley behind the Wild Pony, the seven of them standing in a circle on the glass-strewn asphalt in the glare of the rust red late evening sun. Maria had told the Signal group that she'd asked Noah to come by and help her start planning a trust for her mother; he'd immediately agreed to come right before opening.

"Here," Liz said, handing over the serum to Maria and showing her how to use the injector.

"We'll be right here," Michael said, arm around Isobel, "If he tries anything, we'll come in and get you." Max was leaning against the side of Michael's truck, arms crossed, eyes grim as he nodded.

"And we'll be in there with you." Alex said, nodding to Liz.

"Let's do this," Maria said, pocketing the serum and turning to march into the bar.

Alex leaned over and kissed Michael soundly on the cheek before following her. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then he was spinning, Michael's arm around his back as he kissed him once, firmly on the lips. He smiled into it:

"Be safe," Michael whispered.

Alex promised: "I will."

Alex and Liz would be sitting in a corner booth, pretending to be editing his resume and keeping and eye on Maria as they waited for Noah.

Well, at least Alex had thought they would be pretending. But then Liz pulled-out a print-out of his beleaguered LinkedIn page, complete with red line-edits, and slapped it down in front of him.

"You can't summarize 10 years of Air Force service with: 

> 'Airborne Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance (ISR) Operator
> 
> \- provided airborne intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance.'"

"What?"

She stabbed the end of her red pen into the printout: "You need to provide quantitative explanations of your work that are relevant to your next job."

He frowned at her, turning the paper towards him: "But I don't know what my next job will be."

Her face softened. "You've got 5 weeks, right? So, what do you like doing?"

He glanced at the door; still no Noah. "Is this really the time?"

Liz's smirk was wide and gleeful: "No time line the present, Alex. If he can read minds, he needs to see us thinking about what we're doing." She flipped the printout over. "Write down ten job titles you'd like to have. And let's assume you're on earth for them, just for argument's sake."

Alex frowned, snatching Liz's pen before tapping it against his teeth. He looked over at Maria, who was prepping the bar like this was any other night.

He doodled a heart and then a B-2 bomber and then:

  1. Self-defense teacher
  2. Computer science professor
  3. Programmer for civic tech group
  4. High School Mu



Then the door opened, Noah striding in, a legal notepad under his arm. He glanced over at Alex and Liz, nodding before heading to the bar.

Maria smiled, pouring him a seltzer, hands on the counter.

Liz flipped-over the paper, and began marking-up the page, voice low:

"How many people did you command in Baghdad?"

"10 most of the time, up to 50 during some missions. Sometimes I was on my own."

"Got it," she said, making a note. 

"What's the thing you're proudest of doing?"

Alex closed his eyes, thinking: "I decoded a message that told us we had the wrong target, that we were about to bomb a refugee camp. We didn't end-up bombing it. There were 1000 people in that camp, and if I hadn't worked hard and fast, they would have been hurt or dead."

Liz's dark eyes were sympathetic as she made a note.

"What technologies did you use the most in your job?"

There was a  _thunk_ and they both turned to watch Noah slump to the floor, emptied syringe in his neck and billy club still in Maria's hands.

She smiled over the bar at them: "I believe in the belt-and-suspenders approach to personal safety." She twirled her billy club, "Science is all well and good, but Mama DeLuca's Peace Maker has always had my back."

Alex pushed himself to standing, Liz hustling over to take Noah's feet as Maria gripped him under the arms, hoisting him into the air and heading for the back door.

Alex locked the front door and followed after them, cane digging into the well-worn floor.

They got Noah bundled up in the back bed of the truck, Max sitting heavily on him as Michael and Isobel began their drive to the desert. Everyone else followed in Kyle's truck, Alex tapping his cane against his leg, watching Max in the open truck bed as they followed behind, every bump jerking in his stomach as he wondered if Max was being jostled by an unexpectedly awakening Noah.

They made it to the cave without Noah waking, Max throwing him over his shoulder and hauling him into the cave, Isobel following behind with Maria's arm tightly wrapped around her, guiding her carefully over the broken ground. 

Alex headed back outside to see how Michael was doing. He moved to where Michael was pulling video equipment out of a black box in the back of his truck. His back was a series of hard lines, hands slapping at the box as he dug cables and cameras out, coiling and piling them. Alex put a hand on his shoulder and he shied away. Alex took a step back, hands up as Michael turned to him, his voice rough:

"I just need to get this done, then I can uncoil, ok? I just need to get Iz safe."

Alex nodded, hands out: "How can I help?"

Michael shook his head, dismissive, then paused, laying his hands flat on the truck bed and taking a deep breath.

"Can you haul the batteries into the cave?" He pointed to a duffle with a half-dozen car batteries in it. He nodded, slinging the duffle over his shoulder and finding the balance with his cane.

He began the walk when he heard a soft:

"Alex?" He turned around to see Michael outlined by the last of the sunlight, face soft, shorn of the anger that had filled it moments before.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, love," Alex said, moving into the cave.

Liz had almost finished coating Noah in melted-down silver as Isobel watched, dry-eyed and with fists clenched, Max's arm around her shoulder and Maria's around her waist. Kyle was hanging back, back against the rough cave wall. Alex set the batteries down. Kyle looked at them questioningly.

Alex said: "I think Michael's going to power the security system with them."

Kyle nodded and Alex said, voice quiet: "Was the rest of the day any better than the morning started?"

And then, there it was, a ghost of a smile, the best thing he'd seen from Kyle since Caulfield: "Yeah, it was. I think I have a group of five."

"Five what?" Came Max's voice, face concerned.

Kyle eased away from the wall, eyes on Noah as Liz began to feed him into the pod.

Kyle's voice was soft, but held in it real hope: "I think I know which five of the Antaran elders we can bring home next week."

Michael stepped into the room, arms full of surveillance equipment, looking back-and-forth from Kyle to Max.

Kyle turned to him: "Michael, if we can get them to release her, I think we can bring your Mom home next week."

Michael dropped the equipment, catching it with his powers at the last moment before it crunched in the dirt. Alex moved to him, pressing the equipment to settle gently on the ground before wrapping him up in his arms, Michael's hands going slowly to his back. His breaths were uneven, his broad shoulders so much bigger in the narrow entrance of the cave, but Alex kept his arms around him until he felt the man soften and move, filling the empty spaces between them, breath coming between them synching, so they fit into each other's worn-in places.

Alex's voice was a low murmur in Michael's ear: "It's going to take a fight, but we'll get her free."

He felt him nod, fingers gripping tight on his back.

"Guys?" Liz's voice was quiet but carrying. Alex turned, Michael keeping his arms around him, chest pressed to his back. Noah was fully in the pod, Liz scraping the last of the silver off of her hands.

"It sounds like we need an update from Kyle, but I for one just want to clean off. Alex, you ok hosting everyone at the house again tonight?"

He looked over at Michael, seeing a tiny nod, before he said: "We'd be happy to. Maybe everyone can clean off before going into the hot spring, and we can eat out there."

Kyle moved to help her pack her stuff and in a few minutes, Alex and Michael were alone in the cave, setting-up the last of the cameras.

Alex heard Kyle's truck move out, the engine's growl echoing over the arroyo.

He kept his hands busy, running wires to allow for multiple camera angles, as he asked: "Are you ok?"

Michael gave a choked huff, but when Alex glanced over, his eyes were on his work, lit by the soft glow of the pods that had kept him and Isobel and Max safe for a half-century.

He gestured to Noah: "He got inside of Iz's  _head_. He took her over, made her -- I'd thought, when I got sent back here, after the placements in Albuquerque and Santa Fe, that they were going to be safe with the Evanses. But they  _weren't_ and I didn't --"

"Hey, hey," Alex said, moving over to him, not touching, but close enough if Michael reached out. He was crouched over, taping down the last of the wires to the main camera.

He looked up, and his eyes were wet, swimming in the swirling light: "I didn't protect her, Alex. I was at the wedding, I watched him, and this whole time --"

Alex used the wall to kneel, putting his hands gently on Michael's shoulders: "Just like you told Kyle this morning, I don't think anyone should or is going to blame you for what Noah did. You can be furious, you can be hurt, but you don't need to be guilty."

Michael finished the connection and turned to adjust the camera: "I don't think I have control over how I feel. If they were logical, they wouldn't be called emotions."

Alex nodded: "Yeah. I guess what I'm trying to say is: let's get this done and go home. We can eat with our family -- found and crash-landed -- and make plans, and you can help Isobel heal."

Michael stood, dusting off his jeans and pulling out his phone to check the cameras. He flipped through the three views, all clearly showing Noah in his pod.

"Alright," he said, reaching down to help Alex up. Alex took his hand and stood, a smile fluttering across his face when Michael tugged him in a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

"Let's go home."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing! They are so lovely! I love them all!


	21. Four Weeks, Six Days, 6 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice fluff, a bit of plot, more later!

Alex slipped his phone out of his pocket, thumbing it open with his fingerprint, and checking the app with security footage of Noah in the cave. Still unmoving, still distressingly naked. Alex swiped it closed and shifted his weight, trying to give Michael space, but they had been at Target for 2 hours, after a full day of work, and his leg was hurting from pacing up-and-down the aisles.

They were in the fresh flowers section and Michael was weighing a bouquet of red roses against a cluster of carnations, dyed bright purple, green, gold and turquoise. He'd been picking-up and putting down different combinations of flowers for about 10 minutes, and Alex decided it was time to intervene.

"She'll love whatever you get her, Michael," he said, stepping forward, not touching him but well-inside his space.

Michael shook his head: "I don't even know her _favorite color_ , Alex. How am I supposed to welcome her if I can't even pick out flowers?"

Alex glanced at the cart. It was nearly bare. There were two new sets of sheets, two pillows, and a heart-shaped box of chocolates that said: "I love you, Mom," in gold metallic font. Michael had spent 25 minutes reading different greeting cards in the Mothers section before storming off to the flower area, Alex pushing the cart behind him silently but (he hoped) supportively.

"Kyle said --"

Michael shook his head, leaning back just enough so his shoulder pressed into Alex's chest, body relaxing a micrometer at the contact. Alex risked putting his hand in the middle of Michael's back, judgy fellow shoppers be goddamned. He pressed in, feeling the sweat under Michael's shirt, and heard him sigh and settle a little.

His voice was low, a little more controlled, eyes fixed on the flowers in his hands. "Kyle said the medical records indicate she and the others have been eating regular American military food, so there's no special diet. They've had a regimented schedule, so regular meals are important. They haven't had privacy in decades, so that's important, but if we find they need to bunk with each other or on the floor or without sheets, we should roll with it. Not being judgmental, keeping an eye on them, not overwhelming them -- I got it all when he explained last night."

Alex smoothed his hands down his back a bare inch, the shape of Michael easing under his touch. "He also said that when we go there tomorrow, anything could happen. They might not want to leave if everyone isn't leaving together. Flint might change his mind," Alex was thoroughly prepared to use every means at his disposal to ensure Flint kept his word, but he wasn't going to make Michael a promise he wouldn't keep, "They'll tell us what they need and we'll do our best to give it to them."

"I know," Michael said, voice low, "I just want it to be perfect."

Alex felt a soft smile move lopsided across his mouth. "I felt nothing but love from Mara," and oh, what a moment that had been, Michael learning his mother's name for the first time, "and if things go wrong, and they will, we'll keep trying."

Michael took a breath: "Yeah." He shook the flowers a little in his hand.

Alex took the implicit question: "Go for the brightly-dyed ones; they remind me of the colors of the ship."

Michael nodded, laying the flowers reverently in the child basket of the cart. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and swayed, glancing up at Alex: "Do we need anything else?"

Alex shook his head, knowing it was too definitive for the softness of the question, but his leg was really starting to twinge.

Michael laughed, throwing an arm around his waist as Alex navigated them to the double-line of checkout tills: "You want to go swimming when we get home?"

Alex nodded. They'd eaten at the McDonalds in the store before going shopping, since Michael firmly believed shopping before eating led to overbuying and Alex liked to watch how Michael ate his ice-cream, all lips and tongue and -- he had to load the conveyor belt.

Michael was staring at the gum rack, hand going towards it and then pulling back. The woman ahead of them was negotiating coupon expiration dates so Alex offered in a low murmur:

"Did you want some gum?"

Michael turned to him, eyes a little wide. "It's not in the budget."

Alex frowned a little, trying to think that through. There had to be a story there, but it wasn't one he was going to get in the checkout line at Target.

"We can get some, if you want," he said, the check-out worker moving to their small pile of things, carefully scanning and laying the flowers on the workbench beside her.

Michael turned a confused look to him but then went to grab one. Alex had expected him to get something minty, with some highly-butch name like Arctic Armageddon or Chill Bro Blast -- but instead, Michael grabbed the pinkest bubblegum on the rack and slapped it defiantly on the conveyor belt. Alex shrugged, greeting the check-out worker as Michael paid for the small bag, getting it settled on his arm before gently picking-up the flowers with his left hand.

As they walked to Michael's truck, he said: "One of the places I stayed, gum on Fridays was a reward for good behavior during the week. Bubble gum was for good girls, mint was for good boys. I snuck some, because they were unfair fucks and I was 9 and I wanted some gum. I was in trouble for fighting because one of the older boys kept roughing-up one of the littler ones and they weren't doing anything about it. Jeremy got gum and I got no dinner." He shook his head, swinging himself up into the driver's side as Alex put the groceries between his knees, flowers across his lap. "Jeremy narc-ed on me and I was out. No thieves allowed in the Villaraigosa house."

Alex stilled Michael's hand on the ignition, gripping his fingers tight around his palm, parking lot quiet and deserted around them at 8:30pm on a Tuesday night: "That was shitty and they shouldn't have done that."

Michael nodded but Alex pressed in, moving closer: "They fucking shouldn't. And what's with the boys vs girls gum thing?"

Michael let out a huff, shaking his head: "I don't know and it was fucking stupid. Gender roles are stupid. Bubblegum is the best flavor. And this kind," he said, leaning over to rummage in the grocery bag, Alex hurrying the flowers out of the way so they didn't get crushed, enjoying the brief weight of Michael across his lap before he came back, gum victoriously upheld: "This kind is the best for popping."

"Is it?" He said, and Michael popped-open the plastic, slipping his finger between the cardboard and pulling-out a waxed-paper-wrapped stick of powdery pink gum.

He got himself two pieces and then handed the box to Alex, starting-up the truck, chewing happily.

The industrial land around the Target faded away in minutes, the moonshine turning the desert flat and everpresent, luxurious in a way Alex had never been able to explain to his squad mates who'd grown-up in greener places.

He looked over at Michael, watched as the streetlights swept across his smiling face, turning his hair golden and raven in waves. His hands were steady on the wheel, tapping out along to Jaymes Young's "I'll Be Good," as it crooned and stomped on the radio. Michael blew a bubble and the old rust-engine-oil-Michael smells of the truck brightened, adding the smell of movie theaters and carnivals and childhood to the mix. Alex's heart jerked and he burst out:  
  
"I love you."

Michael glanced over at him, taking his hand off the wheel and laying in between them on the bench. Alex slipped his fingers across Michael's palm, finding the spaces in between and filling them. The something sharp in his chest eased into a sweetness.

"I love you too, Alex."

\--

They pulled-up the drive to see Liz's truck, Max's cruiser, and Maria's SUV parked in front. Alex sighed very quietly but Michael still caught it as he spit his gum into the wrapper and tucked it in the trash bag, Alex following suit.

The porch-light caught his mischievous grin: "I can kick them all out if you want."

"No, if Maria and Kyle bunk over it makes the drive easier for everyone tomorrow. And I know Liz and Iz wanted to do a final review of the medical records and you know Max can't, you know, exist without Liz nearby."

Michael's smirk widened as he leaned across the cab, catching Alex in a warm kiss: "I know the feeling."

Alex hitched his leg up on the benchseat, hand going to Michael's shoulder and pulling himself in tighter as he kissed him back, lips moving softly against his, the sweet smell of bubblegum moving between them. Michael's hand came up to Alex's hip, pulling him in closer, the soft light of the porch flashing against the scars as Alex pulled away and braced his forehead on Michael's shoulder to catch his breath.

"We can sleep out here," Michael said, voice low, face pressed into Alex's neck: "I know you've got camping gear."

"Yeah, would you like that? Sleep under the stars?" Alex said, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Michael's smile moved across the soft skin of Alex's throat: "Yeah."

Alex's leg flared and he gasped, curling away from Michael, hand going to it. Michael's face was a mask of worry -- "Alex, what --"

He shook his head: "I overdid it today -- there was a PT test and --"

"And then I kept us wandering around Target for 2 hours, Alex, I'm sorry --"

Alex shook his head, forcing a smile over the grimace: "Swimming will help a lot, and a night of rest, I should be as good," he corrected himself, "I should be ok."

Michael looked over at the house and made a decision. He turned the truck back on and started around the house on the path he'd carved for Alex to the hot spring. It was just wide enough for the truck, and smoother than most of the county roads.

Alex texted the Signal group:

> Alex: We're going to camp-out by the hot spring tonight, see everyone in the morning.

And then he closed the app before the ribbing could begin.

Michael parked to the side of the hot spring, slipping around the side of the truck to take the bag and the flowers.

"I'm _fine_ ," Alex said, and Michael leaned in, pressing a kiss to his mouth:

"You're _good_ ," he corrected and then turned towards the house. 

"I'm going to get these inside, get the flowers in a vase. You get started and I'll bring back some snacks and the sleeping gear."

Alex watched Michael swagger away like his thighs had had a recent divorce and then swung to lower himself out of the truck, using his arms more than he usually would, trying to ease his weight onto his leg. It stung, which meant he'd broken skin. He hobbled over to the bench Michael had carved into living stone, the sound of the waterfall surrounding him, and eased himself to sitting. He sighed and pulled-out his phone, seeing a flurry of dirty-minded emojis in the group chat before he got to his private chat with Michael.

The last message read:

> Michael: I think they need new bedding. I cleaned everything, twice, but I don't think the twin in the guest room's sheets are nice enough. Want to meet me here and we can go to Target?

Alex smiled and then sent:

> Alex: Can you bring the First Aid kit?
> 
> Michael: Already in the bag.

Alex bit his lips to keep the smile in, then realized there was no one here to catch him mooning at his phone and let it bloom, wide and silly across his face. He looked-up, eyes retracing the starpaths Michael had discovered in the walls of the cave, the ones he knew he wanted to fly. Michael had been working long hours on the console, working with Liz to fabricate replacement sections, using the knowledge that had somehow been packed into his brain without his knowing, sitting there for a half-century, waiting for a burst of power -- _or a burst of love_ , a soft place in Alex insisted -- to show itself, to show him his way home.

He wanted to have something real to show his family, and Alex knew he'd done it. The console they had could run on batteries for a few minutes at a time, projecting the very routes he was tracing in his mind's eye, requesting access to systems that Michael still needed to build. But it turned on. It worked.

The issue of propulsion was an ongoing one. Where Michael would get a reactor wasn't something Alex could figure out yet -- and then it clicked.

He opened-up the Signal app again, wading through a wave of teasing posts from the group with creep-shots of Michael glowering as he gathered sleeping bags and packed snacks coming from Liz, Maria, and Isobel's phones.

Alex huffed a laugh and texted: 

> Alex: I just remembered -- Flint said they have the original engine from the ship at Caulfield. It's a reactor, we should figure out how to get it out once everyone is free.

There was silence on the thread, and then pandemonium. The only text he paid attention to was Michael's on their private thread:

> Michael: You're brilliant. See you in a minute.

Alex started to undress, getting down to his briefs, prosthetic off and laid to the side. The abrasion wasn't as bad as it could have been, not enough to worry about blood in the water, but he'd still sterilize it, put on antibiotics, and wrap it for the night once they were done with swimming.

The water stung a bit but after a few strokes, the cramping in his leg easedand he felt the warmth and comfort of the spring rise around him.

He heard Michael crunching down the path, lazily watched him unroll the sleeping-bags -- two dark blue single mummy bags, the ones he and Kyle had used when they were kids -- in the back of the truck over a few thick blankets, with two pillows tossed in towards the cab. Then he was stripping off his over shirt and Alex hummed a little in appreciation. Michael's eyes caught his, shining in the moonlight, and he slowed his movements, taking his time slipping the shirt off his shoulders.

Alex swum closer, finding his lip between his teeth, warmth from the hot spring moving around him.

Michael pulled off his booths and socks, and pulled his shirt off with an extra arch and flourish that Alex grinned at. Then he was unbuckling his heavy silver belt buckle, and Alex felt his throat go dry. Michael popped the button on his jeans and stepped closer, so the water was lapping around his pale bare feet.

He unzipped his jeans and Alex felt like he was being unzipped from the sternum down. He reached a hand back for the central boulder, holding on as Michael eased his jeans over his hips, keeping his black briefs on even as they rode low enough Alex could see the stark lines of his stomach muscles, now more defined with better eating and fewer liquid dinners. He'd seen the same kinds of changes in his body, with more nights of home cooking and fewer of take-out.

Michael slid his long, tan legs out of his jeans and laid them to the side, striding into the water and directly towards Alex. Alex swam towards him, meeting him halfway. But instead of a kiss, Michael's arms wrapped around him just at the level where they could both stand on the balls of their feet, water and Michael holding Alex up, water lapping over their shoulders.

"You found me a reactor," Michael said into his ear, "I think that calls for celebration."

"Yeah?" Alex said, voice breathy, "What kind of celebration?"

"There's nothing in Rule 1 that says we can't make-out," Michael said, voice low and warm. "It's just we didn't think we had the control to do it and not, you know --"

"Fuck each other's brains out?"

Michael grinned, hands sliding down Alex's sides: "Yeah. But I think we've got a lot better communication going, and I think a bit of making-out circa summer 2008 is very much called for."

Alex grinned, hands going around Michael's neck.

"Making-out in the back of your truck is one of my favorite memories."

"Nostalgia's not always a bitch, huh?" Michael murmured, voice low and just between them and the water and the stars.

"Depends on what you're remembering. And who you're remembering with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life! Thank you to everyone who left comments and to everyone who is reading this!
> 
> Also, I found this Malex vid online and it's -- it's a lot. Also, I'm @JoCarthage on Tumblr if you'd like to come cry about sad, soft boys there with me. https://jocarthage.tumblr.com/post/185655155313/hi-yes-now-i-am-emotionally-compromised#notes


	22. Four Weeks, Six Days, 5 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure of the terms these days, but "making-out" to me is anything you can't get arrested for doing in a car. So, using the old base system, 1st through 2nd base. Actual plot tomorrow. They just needed a good night to make-up for all of the awfulness of Caulfield.
> 
> Also, here's a playlist for this chapter: https://bit.ly/2x3oWxx

Michael had brought towels that he'd laid on the truck bed. Once he was out of the hot spring, he handed one over and  Alex found it was still warm in the chilly night air.

Alex glanced over: "Did you run these through the drier?"

Michael looked to the side: "Since we no longer using the drier as the auxiliary closet, we can do things like warm-up towels on a whim."

Alex buried his face in the warm towel, enjoying the warm feel of it on his skin before drying off all the way. Michael handed him a pair of sleeping pants and Alex quickly changed, staying seated on the stone bench as Michael did the same.

It was weird sometimes how different moments meant different things for their bodies. When Michael was trying to be sexy, he could take off one of his several layers and it was enough to get Alex's heart racing. But here, they were entirely naked and it was just; normal. Alex had had that in the Air Force, where one of the first things they take from you is a sense of physical modesty, what with shared barracks and group showers. But he'd never had it with someone else and was constantly surprised with the number of different ways to be intimate with someone's body.

Michael handed over his crutch and the first aid kit, knowing he'd want to take care of the abrasion before getting into his sleeping clothes, and also knowing he wouldn't want any help caring for it. Michael busies himself getting the grapes and carrots and loaf of crusty bread out of the basket he'd packed.

Then Alex had a thought, rooting around in his discarded jeans until he got his phone. He thought of his feelings when Michael had come into the hot spring, the chest-expanding, heart-racing, hands grasping feeling of it. He opened his music app and started a new playlist, hunching over his phone when Michael sat close next to him and peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing.

"One minute!"

Michael huffed and then proceeded to make a nuisance of himself, kissing his way across the Alex's shoulder blade, burying his nose in his hair, then across his other blade.

Alex could hear his breath kicking up but wanted to do this, to contribute something to the mood.  _Seven songs should do it._

"Done!" he said triumphantly.

"Can I see now?" Alex grinned, hitting Play on the first song and pumping-up the sound so it filled the cupping walls of the hot spring. 

> _Talking like we used to do_  
>  _It was always me and you  
>  _ _Shaping up and shipping out  
>  _ _Check me in and check me out_

Michael had frozen, body still stretched out behind him. Alex craned around, needing to see his face. It was a mix -- surprise and love and longing and affection and curiosity.

"Did you make us a mixtape? Just now?"

Alex thumbed his phone off, leaning back into Michael's arms.

"I mean, I've been building it in my head, songs I hear on the radio, ones we used to listen to. Songs I found when we were apart that reminded me of you. I just hadn't made the actual playlist yet."

Michael's breath was hot against his ear and he pressed a kiss right behind Alex's ear, the tickle and the warmth of it making him squirm a little bit before he stopped himself.

He brought his hands-up, cradling Michael's face.

"I never got to make you a mixtape. I wanted to. I wanted you to have it."

Michael's smile was bright and sad and warm, all at the same time: "I would have loved to have it."

Alex glanced over at the inviting truck bed, looking much softer than the towel-covered stone bench they were on.

"So, making out means no one comes, right?"

Michael nodded, eyes focusing a little more: "Hands above the waist, no more clothes come off than are already off," he ran a fingertip across Alex's collarbone and Alex shivered with it.

"We have until the playlist is over?" Alex added.

Michael cocked his head. "How long is it?"

"About twenty minutes,"

Michael glanced up at the sky and thought for a minute.

His voice was forcibly-reasonable: "I mean, we could go all night probably. But you have a big day tomorrow --"

"We both do."

Michael's eyes were dark in the moonlight. "Yeah. So, sure, twenty minutes of celebration, coming right up."

"Or not, as the case may be." Alex said, levering himself to standing.

Michael rolled his eyes and hopped onto the truck bed, Alex joining him, laying the crutch along the sidewall. The next song started-up, gentle chords reverberating through the spring. 

 

> _I couldn't utter my love when it counted_  
>  _Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now_  
>  _I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted_  
>  _Ah, but I'm singing like a bird, 'bout it now_

Michael's smile flashed in the starlight, laying back on the sleeping bags, arms behind his head. Alex crawled over him, finding Michael's legs warm on either side of his hips. He took a moment to look down at him, all bright skin and wild curls in the moonlight. He traced his hand down his chest, breath catching as Michael arched up into the motion, skin hot under his palm, body so responsive.

Alex met his eyes, dark and drowning and wide with want. He held them as he leaned down, bracing his elbow over Michael's shoulder, body covering him, hiding him from the moonlight, hovering just above him, bumping noses and catching his smile before pressing a kiss onto his lips. Michael was holding himself back, holding himself so careful, returning exactly the same pressure and heat as Alex brought. And it was -- sweet and perfect, just their lips, Michael's thighs tight around his hips, only touching in those places.

But that's not all Alex wanted from him, not by lightyears. He swept his tongue across Michael's lips and he was met on the next sweep, the soft slide, the warm taste of him, the rush of his blood in his ears drowning the Hozier out. He put his other hand on Michael's chest, feeling his heart, feeling his body move against his.

Michael's hips jerked against his, bringing them into full and perfect contact, and Alex caught himself before he ground down against him, but only just. Michael pressed his hips to the bed of the truck with a growl of frustration. Alex pulled back, resting his forehead on Michael's: "Maybe we should lay next to each other, it might make this easier."

Michael nodded, eyes screwed-up tight like he was counting down from 10 in his head. Alex rolled to the side, kissing his cheek and then his nose and over each eyebrow until Michael opened his eyes with a smile. He smoothed a hand down Alex's side.

"I'm so glad we get to touch each other."

Alex responded with a kiss, this one harder, Michael kissing back with a low groan that made Alex's stomach flip. He could barely hear the next song over the slick sound of their bodies on the nylon sleeping bags:

 

 

> _I love it when we play 1950_  
>  _It's so cold that your stare's 'bout to kill me_  
>  _I'm surprised when you kiss me  
>  __So tell me why my gods look like you_

He heard Michael laugh gently and pulled back. He murmured:

"Trust you to have the queerest song getting radio play in New Mexico on your mixtape."

Alex slid a little closer, slipping his knee between Michael's, the pressure of it making his stomach jerk: "You were right, about the club. There's some parts of queer culture that make it feel less, lonely, being the only ones out here. Good music helps."

"You have any Torres on this?"

Alex shook his head and Michael grinned: "I'll get you her albums for the drive up tomorrow. I think you'll like 'New Skin.'"

"I like  _your_ skin," Alex said, ducking down to press his open mouth to the hollow in Michael's throat,  _feeling_ the sound he made against his lips. He hummed a little and moved down, kissing the bare skin and then down into the hair in the middle of his chest as Michael's fingers strummed and flexed against his back, his breathing tightly controlled, body as still as he could make it, but still vibrating with tension.

His hand fluttered over the back of Alex's neck, feathering his hair when he muttered: "Can I?"

Alex wasn't sure there was anything Michael could do he wouldn't like, but in the spirit of communication, he looked up at him from where he was tucked against his chest, seeing his face wide open, mouth parted, gasping. Alex murmured: "What do you want to do?'

"Your hair, I want to," and Michael swallowed, trying to get ahold of himself and mostly failing, his voice sounding  _wrecked_ : "I can't have your hands in my hair because of the thing in my head about it, but I love your hair, and I want to run my fingers through it, maybe pull, if you're into it."

Alex hadn't known until Michael asked if he would be, but once he asked, he knew the answer: "Go for it, love."

Michael's fingertips slipped against his scalp, callouses catching but not pulling painfully since Michael was being so careful. It felt -- Alex could feel tingles working their way down his body, giving shape to his hands and arms and leg in a way he didn't think he could remember feeling before.

"That feels wonderful," he said. He leaned back in returning to his careful mapping of Michael's body with his lips. When he got to his pec and his lips brushed Michael's nipple, he felt a sharp tug on his scalp, but it was like the wires in his brain had crossed, and what would have been painful during a self-defense class suddenly felt -- he managed to keep his moan below the level of the music, but only barely.

Michael chuckled: "Looks like we've found something you like." 

"Mm hmm," Alex said, not sure he had real words to use right now. 

 

> _Take a breath and let it all slow down_  
>  _Only love can turn your head around_  
>  _'Cause the future's in the hand that you hold_

Alex moved his way down to Michael's other pec, the wiry hair on his chest sharing Michael's best smells, him happy and warm and comfortable, and there, the sharp scent of arousal. Alex had to close his eyes for a minute, pressing his cheek to Michael's chest, hearing his heartbeat and  _feeling_ it against his cheek. He took a breath and said, softly:

"I thought, for so long, I'd never get to do this again,"

And Michael pulled him up, arms wrapped around him, finding his hand and pressing their palms together, fingers finding their places with practiced ease.

"Me either," came the gut-punched reply, "I didn't think so either. Not after high school, not after your first deployment -- I looked in the papers online every day, trying to find your name and praying to a God I didn't believe in that I wouldn't see it. I had a Google Search Alert, 'Alex Manes,' 'Alexander Manes,' "Manes of Roswell."

Alex hid his face in Michael's shoulder: "I'm so sorry I left you like that."

Michael fluttered his hand out of his hair, rubbing it down his back: "Hey, hey, I wasn't trying to make you feel bad --"

"You don't have to --"

Michael kept going: "I was just trying to say -- I'm still really glad that we get this. Because it wasn't likely or even possible. But now it's ours. And things might change tomorrow, they'll probably get really hard and really complicated, but  _this, this_ is ours." He pressed his left hand to Alex's chest. "I'm yours."

"And I'm yours," Alex replied, and then it was like he wouldn't be able to breathe if he wasn't kissing Michael  _right now_ , and he was there with him, all power and warmth and safety and trust. Alex realized their breathing was in synch, their bodies making space for the other, until he didn't know where Michael began and he ended, all just one thing. The music switched over and Alex huffed a laugh at Michael's startled gasp. 

 

> _Well, I woke up in mid-afternoon_  
>  _'Cause that's when it all hurts the most  
>  _ _I dream I never know anyone at the party  
>  _ _And I'm always the host_

"I couldn't very well make a playlist for us without this one," he said and Michael smiled, snickering a little.

"I think it's really more Max and Isobel's song --"

"Yeah, but I used to hide out at Crashdown as much as anyone else. It  _sounds_ like high school for me."

Michael smiled. "I always liked the last verse," he said, and then he paused, waiting for the right chords to come around, sing-speaking over the actual second verse:

"We drove out to the desert just to lie down, beneath this bowl of stars, we stand up in the Palace, like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars,"

Alex joined him, singing as he spoke: "We shout out these songs, against the clang of electric guitars. Well, you can see a million miles tonight, but you can't get very far." _  
_

Michael paused: "You know, I don't know if I've ever heard you sing. I like it."

Alex rolled onto his back, tugging Michael up on top of him and running a hand over his shoulders: "Well, I like how you sing too."

Michael rolled his eyes, settling across Alex's hips: "I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Alex shrugged: "I like hearing you happy. It doesn't have to be in-tune, or even in the right key --"

"Hey!" Michael said, reaching over to flick Alex's ear.

"What are you, seven?" Alex said, laughing, shifting his hips against Michael's and watching his eyes heat at the feeling.

"No," Michael said, "I'm a fully grown adult. Who knows he can't sing but doesn't like to be reminded of it."

Alex rolled his eyes and flattened his hands on Michael's stomach, sliding them up his chest to his shoulders, Michael's body swaying toward him with the motion, a lazy look in his eye. Another sweep of his hands and Michael caught them, cradled them between them. He leaned forward, kissing Alex slowly as he drew his thumb up from the center of his wrist to the middle of his palm and -- Alex's body rocked toward him, the sensitive skin of his hand curling around Michael's thumb as he heard himself make a small sound. Michael repeated the gesture, tracing it up the length of each finger, and then back, until everything felt tied together and perfect, like a web between him and Michael. 

> _Unwrap your heart for me_  
>  _'Cause mint condition just means that you haven't been living_  
>  _Who taught you to be so safe anyways?_  
>  _A scar is just a battle wound, it tells the tale of earlier days_

Alex turned his hand in Michael's grasp between them and returned the gesture, watching as Michael's eyes glazed over, hips rolling on his and then freezing, caught in the motion. Alex focused on tracing his callouses, feeling the ways in which his fingers still moved when he was trying to keep his hips still. He was all coiled energy, silhouetted against the oncoming stars. Alex smoothed his hand down Michael's left arm, picking-up his hand and repeated the exploration, feeling the slick scar tissue and the knotted places where it had healed particularly badly. Michael's thighs are hot, almost too hot, on either side of his hips, body mostly still, less active than with the right hand. But Alex saw something move in his eyes, something easing, something reminding him that he was so loved, scars and all.

Alex reached his hands up and Michael came down, hands in Alex's hair, moving against his scalp, the sensation mixing with the weight on his hips and the soft movement of lips against his mouth. The last song of the mixtape came-on: 

 

> _And so I'd thought I'd let you know_  
>  _That these things take forever, I especially am slow_  
>  _But I realized that need you_  
>  _And I wondered if I could come home_

The soft chords only seemed to drive Michael closer to him, leg slipping between Alex's and Alex couldn't help it, the pressure, the feeling of being there under Michael, free to touch him, free to be touched by him, an entire house of people who loved them between them and the rest of the world -- he arched up, making a sound at the contact and Michael rubbed,  _ground_ down, and it was heaven, and they were moving together and -- Michael laid his palms on either side of Alex's face, breathing deeply, body slowing and stilling and Alex followed his lead, trying to slow his breathing, trying to convince his body to rest, soft and easy, even when it was screaming at him to touch Michael, to rev back up again, to _finish_. The last chords echoed out and Michael lifted the phone with his mind, bringing it to Alex's hand so he could stop it before it looped back around.

Alex arched up and kissed him, mouth hard and trying to press into him how much he wanted him, how hard this was, and what it was taking for him to stop. And then he pulled back grinning down at Michael, who shared the look. Alex pulled his legs out from under him and tucked himself into one of the sleeping bags, the nylon thankfully smelling like the detergent Michael preferred rather than whatever it had smelled like before Michael had gotten to it. When he looked over, Michael was still laying on top of the sleeping back, chest rising and falling, arm across his eyes.

"Yeah, me too," Alex said with feeling, knowing how much his body was not understanding their current circumstances.

Michael flailed out his hand and Alex caught it, squeezing before directing it towards the sleeping bag.

"Come on, come to bed."

Michael did, slipping inside the sleeping bag, tapping Alex's phone. Alex looked over at the screen and saw him buying a few Torres albums, putting them in a playlist.

They curled up in their navy sleeping bags like parentheses, hands tangling in front of them, foreheads nearly pressed together, breathing the same air.

"Alarm set?" Alex yawned and Michael checked, showing him the screen before tucking the phone beside Alex's crutch.

"Thanks, love," Alex said. He caught the glint of Michael's smile.

"Feel better sleeping out here?" He asked and Alex heard himself reply,

"Feel better sleeping with you. Four weeks can't go fast enough."

"For me either love. For me either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per sp-ac-ep-re-si-de-nt (TheQueenOfStars)'s request, here's the songs from Alex's mixtape:
> 
> 1) Vance Joy - "Mess Is Mine"  
> 2) Hozier - "Shrike"  
> 3) King Princess - "1950"  
> 4) Dan Owen - "Hand That You Hold"  
> 5) Counting Crows - "Mrs. Potters Lullaby"  
> 6) Andrea Wasse - "Cold Feet"  
> 7) Bright Eyes - "First Day of My Life"
> 
> Here's a playlist of it: https://bit.ly/2x3oWxx
> 
> I have a playlist that I listen to when I'm writing -- these are one it, but there's a lot more. I'd actually structured this chapter differently after cadenzamuse on tumblr asked about making a mixtape for this fic (https://bit.ly/2IVP174) and I realized how much I wanted to include more music so they'd have something more to work from. And I love music, so, thus -- this!


	23. Four Weeks, Five Days, 18 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the third scene, Alex listens to this song, if you want to listen while reading. I think Michael gave it to him because it's what his internal environment sounds like while he's waiting to meet Mara for the first time, under all of that bluster. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nIIJsIuQd8
> 
> There's a full songlist at the end, if that's your jam. Do folks want me to add all of the songs to one playlist on YouTube?

Alex's alarm rang out boisterous and loud in the quiet of the desert dawn, Brendon Urie crowing about his high hopes until Alex smacked it off. Michael had unzipped his sleeping bag and was half on Alex's chest, leg across his hips, generally doing his best octopus impression. Alex smoothed a hand down his back, sound of the hot spring flowing around them.

"I've got to get up," he said, pressing his mouth to Michael's shoulder. Michael rolled off him, arm over his face to block out the sun.

"You've got time for breakfast?"

Alex checked his phone. "Yep, but let's eat at the house. I want to check-in with Kyle and Maria on the plan."

\--

Michael reversed the truck back down the path, taking the curves easily as Alex enjoyed the sharp ways his eyes tracked the path, the long line his neck made as he craned to look behind him. There were no back-up cameras in this mid-century beauty. Alex was wearing yesterday's clothes, ready to brush his teeth and get on with the day.

Alex said: "I'll get the camping gear away if you want to get coffee started?"

Michael smiled: "Deal."

Alex stuffed the sleeping bags into their sacks, enjoying punching them down as much as an adult as he had when he was a kid. He hefted them over his shoulder, taking the steps into the house carefully, cane solid on the ground. Maria met him at the door, smirking.

"Have a good night?"

He gave her his most impersonal, customer service smile: "Yep."

She stepped back, letting him through the door to the smell of coffee brewing. Kyle and Liz were at one end of the table, bent over a laptop, conferring in low tones. The turquoise-inlaid antique cedar box Alex had bought in Albuquerque glinted between them. Max and Isobel were huddled at the other end of the table, looking blearily-but-hopefully at the coffee maker, which Michael was glaring at from a closer vantage point, urging it to produce faster.

Alex nodded to everyone and headed down the hallway, to the closet closest to the locked master bedroom door. He glanced into his brother's old rooms, seeing they were all made-up with the sheets he and Michael had bought, fresh flowers from Isobel, some rugs he didn't remember buying but thought he'd seen at Isobel's place on the floor. He smiled, reminded again how grateful for all of the ways his friends connected with each other and helped each other. He nudged the hall closet door open and knelt down with the help of the handrail to shove the sleeping bags back into the empty space they'd left behind.

"What's the deal with the master bedroom?" Maria asked, and he stiffed, back tense, shoulders hunching. Maria stepped forward, hand going for the knob --   


"No --" Alex choked out and Maria paused, looking down at him as he knelt in the dim light of the hallway.

She was frowning: "When Isobel brought-out the airbed last night, I was surprised. I figured with three bedrooms -- not counting yours -- one couple, and a couch, we wouldn't need one. I slept on it in the living room, with Kyle snoring the whole night on the couch, Isobel got one of the guest rooms for her beauty rest and Max and Liz split the other. When I asked Max why no one had taken the master bedroom, he said to ask you. So --"

Alex heard Michael's footsteps in the hallway and realized his hand was cramping-tight on the handrail, still on the ground, unable to rise his muscles were so tight. He felt Michael come stand beside him and reached out, latching his hand around his ankle, trying to ground himself, to count to ten, to list 5 things he could see, 4 things he could hear, 3 things he could touch, 2 things he could smell, 1 thing he could taste. 

"Alex?" Maria's voice was small, worried; it didn't sound like the first time she'd said his name. He glanced up at Michael and realized he was waiting for Alex's sign about how to proceed.

Alex took a breath, pulling himself to standing. He felt shaky, but with Michael's weight at his back, he could look at the master bedroom door. 

The lock was new, the one Michael had replaced when he was at work after Max had broken it to get Jesse's things out of it.

Alex reached past Maria, putting first his fingertips, then the flat of his hand on the door. Just wood. Just painted, industrially-produced wood.

His voice was hushed when he said: "You know, I think I've managed to go 6 weeks without looking at this thing. When I said we could take two of the Antarans, I was -- I wasn't even counting this room. Pretending it doesn't exist. Like it was etch-a-sketch-ed out fo the house's footprint as soon as Jesse Manes was gone."

Maria's face was filled with the kind of anxious fear he felt swirling under the surface of his own heart anytime he thought of this room. But Michael's hand was firm on his back, and he felt he could breathe again.

"What happened in there?" Maria asked and Alex felt his face freeze as he glanced at her, hand already going for the handle.

"Nothing good." He said, and shoved the door open, pulling away from Michael so he was the first one in the room.

It was -- smaller than he remembered. Hardwood floor bare except for dust, walls as empty as they'd ever been. Even the bedframe was gone, the one with the posts he'd had to grip when --

He shook his head, moving over to the window, pulling the blinds open. The path Michael had carved trailed right under it, warm and sweeping. He closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of Michael sleeping on his chest that morning, releasing his grip on the blind-pull and letting it swing.

He heard the others step into the room; not just Michael and Maria, but Isobel and Liz and Kyle. He could feel them all clustered in the door, watching him, but he wasn't ready to talk yet.

He moved over to the far wall, seeing the way the places the drywall had faded differently; he could vaguely remember there had been wall hangings here, before his mother moved out. Maybe rugs? He remembered this room smelling of sage and desert air, the windows always open, the breeze always flowing from the master bathroom window across the floor where he'd play before he was old enough for school, when it was just his Mom and him. He let out a shuddering sound and Michael was beside him, arm around his shoulder, hunching a bit, his body like a shield across Alex's back.

He returned the hug one-armed and moved over to the bathroom.

And there it was. Just like he'd remembered. Something his father had never removed, never managed to take away.

It was a massive mirror above the sink, hung in a black wrought-iron frame, wild roses curling and whirling around it, thorns radiating out. Alex liked to think it had fought back when his father had tried to take it down, that he'd had to shave, to iron his uniform, to brush his teeth, knowing he could never get rid of it, knowing it would take blood before it came off the wall.

Alex liked to think his mother had bolted it to the fucking studs, so no matter what Jesse Manes did, the house she had bought with her savings when she left the rez for him, that she'd deeded to her boys even when she couldn't be with them anymore, some part of her would stay there.

Alex heard Kyle whistle: "That doesn't seem like Jesse Manes' style."

He glanced back, seeing the doctor peering into the bathroom.

Alex could see his smile; it wasn't a nice smile, but it was his and it looked nothing like his father's. Every vicious curve of it was his mother's.

"It wasn't -- it was my Mom's. It was from her family."

Kyle's face softened and he stepped into the dark tile of the bathroom, looking around. There was a tub/shower, no railings, a toilet, a sink, and a big cabinet.

Max's voice was quiet: "I boxed everything up in here, even the soap and toilet paper. I figured you wouldn't want any of it around. Then when we came over and the door was still locked," he shrugged, "Things like this, it takes time. I wasn't going to push a timeline you weren't ready for. Not with everything else."

"Thank you," Alex said, "You were right to do that."

Michael looked around, eyes assessing. "What do you want to do with it?"

His eyes were steady, neutral, like if Alex said he wanted it bricked-off or severed from the house, he would do it. Alex closed his eyes, gripping the pale green tile of the countertop.

He couldn't see it, couldn't see what this room could be, should be. He didn't want to sleep here, but leaving it. He opened his eyes, looking over at Michael: "You're better at seeing the good in things like this. What could we do with it?"  


Michael looked around again: "We could turn it into a work room, it could be a library, we could put in a second entrance to turn it into a rental." He ran an experimental hand down the wall, knocking to find the studs.

"But, for now, I'd turn it into a bedroom. See if we can get a sixth Antaran free."

"Can you, by tonight?"

Michael grinned, but it was Isobel who spoke-up.

"You won't even recognize it when you get back, Alex." There was a fierceness in her eyes that settled something in him. She hadn't known the kind of childhood he and Michael had, but her wounds hadn't even scarred over yet from Noah. He knew if she threw herself into it, it would become something perfect.

"Let's do it," he said, turning to Liz and Kyle: "Is there a sixth candidate for release?"

Liz smiled, "We'd actually been talking about that -- we'll have to see from Kyle's assessment, but the sooner we get them out of there, the better."

Kyle's face was more cautious: "I'll need to make sure we can make the transfer with as little trauma as possible, but --"

"Since being incarcerated is a trauma in-and-of itself, removing them from that environment with their full consent will end-up doing more good than harm." Liz finished. It was clearly an argument they'd been having for a while, but Kyle didn't push back.

Alex sighed, stepping back until he could feel Michael in a long line against his back. He glanced into the mirror, seeing them framed in it, wild curls of Michael's hair overlapping with the curling stems wrapping around the frame.

He sighed and then straightened.

"We're going to be late if we don't get a move on. Isobel, you're ok handling this today?"

She nodded: "There's tools in the garage?"

Michael nodded. "And I've got my full kit in my truck, so I can help," he glanced at Alex, "I already took the day."

"I've got to go to work --" Max started and Isobel flapped her hand.

"I once saw you try to hammer a screw into drywall, Maximo. You have no business in this project."

Then she softened, patting his arm: "You can bring us lunch though. And you can take Michael's shift on Noah watch."

He smiled, gave her a quick hug, and headed out.

"I've got work too --" Liz started and Isobel smiled.

"I think between Michael and I, we can get this done. Right, Michael?"  
  
Michael looked determined, gaze fierce: "You won't even recognize it when we're done with it."

\--

Alex listened to Torres on the long drive north to Caulfield. Maria and Kyle were taking Maria's truck, since none of them had a car that could fit nine people and any personal items the Antarans had preserved. The back of the car was packed with blankets and shoes and clothes, water and food, a first aid kit, ear plugs -- they had no idea what they would need, so they brought a little of everything.

Torres's stuff was solid rock, good poetry, good rhythm. There was a water metaphor that moved throughout the self-titled album that pulled him into and out of the lyrics. He thought almost burst-out laughing at "Cowboy Guilt" since it seemed like a pretty brutal callout for Max. 

The last track, "The Exchange," was nearly 8 minutes and Alex wasn't a snob, but that was quite of bit of time to dedicate to a song that started with the sound of a river and the cries of seagulls, so he skipped it on the first run through.

The second time through, he let it play. And he began to see it. What Michael had liked about this. What he got from it. Torres's voice was quiet, controlled, but there was a river of hurt under it, a drowning experience that had seeped into every other song. He wondered if that was what Michael was feeling, waiting to meet Mara for the first time in two decades.

> _M y mother lost her mother twice_  
>  _ Once in ’54, then later in life_  
>  _ The exchange was quick and quiet_  
>  _ The records sealed, the names made private  
>  Her search began and ended with a judge  
>  Her papers had been claimed in a freak basement flood_

He didn't know how to think about what they were doing today. The logistics and the tactics, they were clear. He'd said he needed the five -- soon the six -- Antarans for off-site experimentation, without a strict timeline. With Flint's budget woes, he was more than happy to have fewer mouths to feed.

But the enormity of what this was going to mean -- for Michael, for Isobel, for Max -- connecting all of them to an entire culture they'd been removed from. He'd tried to do some reading about what it was like for adoptees to go back to the country they'd been removed from, for war orphans to be reunited with their extended family when peace came. Trauma and distance and loss: there was no right way to handle it.

Nothing in Alex's training prepared him for this. So he was going to follow the advice, from Kyle and the blogs and the books, which all seemed to sum-up to: be kind, be flexible, be loving. 

His basic plan was to treat each of the Antarans like a new kid in his self-defense class. To make no assumptions about if they wanted to be touched or talked to, how they wanted to interact. Let them tell-- or if they couldn't speak show him -- what they needed. He figured whatever emotions he was having was probably a tiny fraction of what they were, and the ones with the most emotions should rule the day today.

All of the overwhelmed, overwhelming feelings from the master bedroom this morning were tucked away tight into a box in his heart. He had decades of experience setting his own screaming aside, and he was grateful for that experience today, since it wasn't his day to breakdown.

He knew it was going to be a long day, since Kyle needed to do interviews with everyone. He'd originally wanted an hour each with all 12 Antarans, so a 12 hour day minimum. But Liz had pushed him and he'd gotten his questions down to half an hour, and then Maria had pushed him and now she was doing half of the intakes. So they needed three hours. 

Alex didn't want to spend 3 minutes in Caulfield, but if that's what Kyle said he needed, then Alex was going to believe him.

He'd thought a lot about what he would say to Mara and the others, about the process, about the plan they'd built from scratch in the last week. He hoped they would approve; it was the best the seven of them could manage.

His stomach pitted as he pulled up, Maria driving behind him. He hated the sight of the building, now knowing so much more about what had gone on there for generations. The only comfort he had was the idea that as soon as he was done with it, it might as well be rubble on the ground, empty of all life. But they had weeks, if not months, before they could get all of them out. They needed the money to come through for the housing for the rest of them from Isobel selling her house. Alex knew she'd listed it with a realtor, was talking with contractors about building behind Alex's and Michael's house. They would need to use some of the money to pay for the Antaran's care, since some of them couldn't function without a much higher level of help than he, or Kyle, or Michael could give. 

Maria had said it as kindly as she could, a painful kind of knowing in her eye: "Caring for someone doesn't mean you know how to care for them."

The six they were bringing back today were the ones which Kyle believed would be able to function on their own with some help, but that just wasn't the case of others.

He stepped out fo the car, Maria right beside him. She grimaced and slung her arms around both his and Kyle's waists.

"Today is going to suck," she said, "And we'll get them out. Then we'll get everybody else out."

Flint was coming up the walkway to wards them, hand outstretched. He looked like he was going to be Professional Brother today, as opposed to Asshole Brother.

"Valenti, DeLuca, Captain Manes," he said, voice even. "Are those the transport vehicles?"

Alex nodded. "You said you had mobile power suppressant options?"

Flint nodded. "Yes, a shock collar they can't get off. You'll have the only key." Alex concealed his horror. He remembered when shock collars had come on the market for dogs in the 90s and they'd horrified him then. The idea of putting that on a person --

"Great," they started to walk towards the building. "While Dr Valenti and Ms DeLuca are doing their evaluation interviews, you can train me on how to use them."

"It doesn't take a lot of training --"

"Perfect, that will give me time to go over everything I need to know about the maintenance and management of this facility. Power supply, meal prep, routines -- everything."

"You said you were here for three hours?" Flint said, sounding doubtful, watching as Kyle and Maria broke off towards the holding area.

"I'll be back next week," Alex said, voice hard. "And for every week after that until I'm satisfied."

Flint raised his hands and led the way, down in the basement. Alex had scheduled a half-day group briefing with everyone on staff, all gathered in one conference room, leaving only one guard for the prisoners.

There were two reason: one, he really _did_ want to know everything about this facility, to make sure he didn't miss anything, any hidden rooms, any secret tech; two, the fewer people observing Kyle and Maria, the less he'd have to explain away about their distinctly humane approach.

He knew they were all waiting in the conference room, but Michael's excitement about the Antaran engine from the night before was like a bright light, and he wanted bathe in it again, to give him what he needed to get started planning how to extract it.

"Let's start with the engine." Flint's eyebrows flew up, but he straightened his shoulders. He glanced down at Alex's cane and said nastily: "It's down three flights of stairs -- you sure you can manage?"

Alex settled his weight back on his heels, stood up straight, and refrained from smashing Flint's nose in the same place he could now see Maria had broken it. 

"Lead on," he said, and followed him into the depths of the building.

It was warmer, the deeper they got, a smell like ozone filling the air. Flint wrinkled his nose: "It always stinks like this. We've tried ventilating, but it's gotten into the stone at this point."

And Alex looked around, realizing the concrete of the ground floor had given way to rich red rock, the same sunset red as the hot spring. He wondered if the aquifer it drew from passed by Caulfield, or if it was a different one entirely.

His leg was aching after three flights of stairs and he knew it was going to be a pain getting back up again, but his pride was in-tact and his eyes sharp when he entered --

"Good God," 

Flint turned, something like pride in the object in front of them flashing in his eyes before his face turned stony again.

"It was salvaged in the operation that cost Jim Valenti's father his life. The creatures attacked when we tried to remove it, never gave a clear explanation of why. The softer scientists theorized it was a religious object, others saw the markings on the outside and assumed it was some kind of map. Maybe it would have powered their habitat, maybe it was a weapon. We couldn't take the chance, so we hauled it here along with the survivors. They used it as a heater in the winter until some some Carnegie Mellon egghead realized it could generate electricity, and we've been running the facility off of it ever since."

Alex knelt, using the motion of adjusting his prosthetic to hide pulling out his phone, getting the camera on and recording, and slipping it back in his pocket, lens peaking out. He walked around the engine, the size of an elephant, glowing a bright purple and teal, and absolutely covered in what might have been a negative image of the carvings on the cave wall. He recognized the symbols Michael had said were the path through the asteroid field, recognized the symbols Michael had translated. They pulsed gently the way the console did, an inner light moving in them. But unlike the console, they weren't hollow -- there was some kind of machinery made of light shifting and hovering, moving inside of it, misty in the light clouds that moved across its surface, dense in a way that was hard to explain. It _felt_ bigger than it was, the way an old house does, like there was more packed between the molecules than there ought to be.

He realized what it reminded him of: the way clouds of chlorine moved inside the turquoise water of a pool, shifting and shimmering, hiding moving things in its depths. He wondered for a brief, horrifying moment, if it might be an egg, a pod like they had Noah trapped in -- but he didn't see any bodies. Maybe this was what all Antaran technology looked like.

Flint was on the other side of the engine and Alex let his face relax from its stiff form, let a tiny thrill move through him: he was standing feet away from the closest thing to a warp core he was going to see in his entire life and he was with the man who was going to strap it to a comet and take him to the stars. A much younger part of him was crowing: _this is so cool._

Alex moved all the way around it, trying to record the angles Michael needed, asking the questions he thought Michael would want to ask. When he couldn't think of any more questions, he took the stairs back up to the conference room and ran the briefing meeting, phone recording the audio of the whole thing.

He kept his focus on the scientists and soldiers in the room and it was -- horrifying and bland. The walls were bare and painted a regular office blue. Everyone was dressed so they could blend into any base, faces the kind he wouldn't be surprised to see at Target or selling a ticket to a the UFO Emporium. For all he knew, he _had_ seen them at the base gym, _had_ sold them or their fathers tickets to the UFO Emporium. This was just a job for them. They showed up to work, hurt people, went home, watched TV, went to be with their families.

He wondered if this was what the ICE agents at the border were like -- numb to the lives they were crushing, convinced of their own whiteness and rightness, so sure of their own superiority they never really thought about the _why_ of what they were doing.

The first moment he almost broke wasn't about the experiments, which he had reviewed in such detail that he'd already had his crying jag about it, afew days before, alone in his dark house, Michael working on his console at the junkyard and Alex unwilling to share this particular pain with him. It was about the food.

"They're on 1000 calories a day?" He demanded.

The doctor startled, droning on about protein powders and liquid diets.

"More than that and they start to fight back again, and that takes extra staff."

"So it's not a medical issue. They don't need to be kept half-starved."

The doctor narrowed his eyes: "My job is to protect the staff from the creatures. They won't die from 1000 calories a day. It's enough to keep all of their major system in-tact for review and experimentation."

"As medically possible, I want you to increase their caloric intake to what would be recommended for a healthy lifestyle. Since we are halving your population today without reducing staff funding, the additional staff capacity to manage them should not be a problem."

Flint frowned: "'Halving'? I thought you were taking 5?"

Alex looked around the table and under plain florescent lights, two dozen mostly male, pale, and stale faces staring at him. He squared his shoulders: "My team's experiments would benefit from an additional participant, bringing us to 6 total. Dr Valenti is currently doing in-take interviews and will come with a final list of candidates."

One older man in the back raised his hand, his curls moving as he scooted his chair forward: "Captain Manes, we ceased our in-progress experiments on your orders last week. When will we be able to resume them?"  
  
Alex checked the papers in front of him, like he was seriously considering the man's question, not trying to hide his eyes, which he was sure conveyed the absolutely truth: _fucking never_.

But he said: "The experiments we're running are based on classified materials my father gained access to that were never revealed to the staff of this facility. Please send a transition memo on any experiments you were working on to my team and we will evaluate whether they are compatible with the new protocol."

"But --"

Alex leaned forward: "Thank you for your work. We will keep you updated as your clearance level allows."

He stood and the rest of the table stood with him.

"I believe Dr Valenti and Ms DeLuca should be done." He glanced at Flint and then nodded to the room. "I will see some of you next week, but if you have questions, please pass them through the regular channels."

There were cameras in the hallway, but he hoped his jerking gate could be blamed on his prosthetic, not the shudders of horror he felt wash over him leaving what might have been the most evil room he'd ever been in.

\--

Kyle's face was stiff, but he gave his report and proposal to Alex and Flint with a professionalism that Alex admired, even as he saw how much it cost him. He was going to have to talk to Kyle about the wonders of therapy, because there was only so much a hug could solve. Maria was still in Mara's cell, clipboard in hand, eyes intent.

Flint reviewed the files, checked with one of the medical techs, and then handed the pile to Alex. 

"It's your call, Captain."

Alex reviewed them, finding Mara's blank face on the top of the pile. The older man they'd spoken to was in there too, as were four others. They each had a mix of documented abilities, nothing as uncontrolled as the man who could cause cancer with a touch. He was familiar with the first five, but the sixth was a woman, brown eyes dull, hand up against the glass. He wanted to take them all out of here, right now, but he just nodded.

"Let's get them processed and head out. Do they have any personal items?"

Flint scoffed. 

Alex controlled his expression: "I want to get them to the new facility before sundown and it's a six hour drive."

Flint nodded -- he'd never asked the location of the new facility and Alex hadn't offered to tell him -- and motioned to his attache. She brought in a box of collars and, moved to the first cell. She motioned the prisoner to stand, to come to the door and brace his hands against the wall.

She palm-printed the door open, sliding shining metal collar around his thin neck and clicking it into place. She made him come and stand at the door of his cell, just over the threshold. She repeated the process with each of them, Maria walking with Mara out of the door. They all stood, wavering and weak, and Alex tried to hold all of their eyes, tell them without speaking they only had to wait a few more minutes, a few more minutes _please_.

It took less than 5 minutes and then Flint handed him the controller for their collars.

"This will unlocked them, this will trigger them without them using their powers, and this will locate them anywhere within a 100 mile radius."

Alex snatched it from his hands before he could decide to demonstrate and silently cursed. He hadn't made a plan for how to remove a tracker and he had to assume, no matter how quiescent Flint was being now, that he would also be able to track them. That's why he hadn't asked about the location of the new facility.

_Shit, shit, shit_. He thought. He saw Mara's mouth quirk up and then turn back down again into the same dull-eyed expression.

He nodded. "If you will all follow me. Dr Valenti, please take the rear. Ms DeLuca, please stay in the middle of the group and help guide them."

Alex led them in a single-file line through the facility. The men from the conference room were peering out of their offices, watching the ragged bodies they had spent a lifetime hurting walk freely past them. They stepped onto the sun-warmed concrete and Alex realized they should have brought shoes in for them.

But they followed him down the sidewalk to their parked trucks, eyes wide and searching, finding the horizon for the first time in decades. He heard Maria call his name quietly and he paused, realizing Mara had stopped, was staring up into the blue, cloudless sky, eyes closed, just -- bathing in the light of the sun. He could see the lines of pain easing, the line of her shoulders dropping, her hands unclenching. The other Antarans looked around, one kneeling to touch the bare earth beside the path, another shielding her eyes to look at Alex.

Maria said something, low and quiet, and Mara nodded slowly, looking down and at Alex. She gave him a smile, and as he watched it move quickly across her face, all he could see was Michael. 

He felt a pressure behind his eyes and called out softly: "Only a few more steps. Let's get you inside. Let's get you home."

Alex got the AC going in each truck as Maria asked each of them which car they would prefer to ride in. Life inside Caulfield had provided them nearly no choices, so getting used to having some, to being asked, was important to all of them.

Four decided to ride with Maria and Kyle, with Mara and the woman they'd added today in Alex's car. They showed them how to use seatbelts and then Alex pulled Maria and Kyle aside.

"They have GPS trackers in their collars. We can't take them straight home."

Kyle nodded, brow furrowing, but Maria pulled out her phone.

"I'll ask Max to meet us on the way, at the highway junction. We can deactivate the collars and he can drive them someplace remote. You told Flint it was a 6 hour drive?"

He nodded. She pulled up the Maps app on her phone, pinching and scrolling it. She typed in one name, then another, then a sly grin moved across her face.

"I have an idea."

\--

Mara had claimed the passenger seat in Alex's truck and he shot her a quick smile before getting on the highway. He typed the address of the rest stop Maria had found into his phone and got on the road.

"We have water and food in the back -- we'll be stopping someplace in about 30 minutes so you all can get changed and we can get the collars off."

Mara nodded, eyes watching Caulfield disappear behind them in the sideview mirror.

Alex glanced at her: "Michael is excited to see you," and then he wanted to smack his own forehead. It sounded so light, saying it like that. He tried again: "I have never seen Michael more excited and worried and thrilled and hopeful about something than the prospect of meeting you. I know Maria and Kyle showed you, but we've set-up my childhood home so it is someplace you can all heal, can all be. If there's anything we can get you --certain foods, kinds of clothing, entertainment --"

"The man who ran the prison, he was your father?"

Alex felt like a bucket of saltwater had been dumped on his head. He nodded, clearing his voice to say: "My father, and then my brother. I don't know how to apologize --"

Mara shook her head: "You misunderstand. I am impressed you managed to grow-up in that house, so full of hate and whippings and pain, and yet you're here, standing and loving and protecting others. It's not something many people can do. I see what my son sees in you."

Alex flushed, concentrating on the road, hands tight on the wheel.

"I think he saw a musician first," he said, "We both used to play guitar, before --"

And he froze, not wanting to share Michael's story for him. He tried to think of how to shift away from that when she took pity on him, her voice light as she said:

"I have missed music. And gardens."

He glanced over at her: "You had a garden, on Antar?"

The woman in the back seat leaned forward, voice slow and deliberate, like she was speaking a second language she'd rarely had cause the practice.

"Mara was the bio engineer on our ship, responsible for the food, oxygen, and hydrogen production for a ship of over a hundred. Before the war, she was interning with the Chief Horticulturalist of Antar."

Alex turned wide eyes to Mara, who looked a mix of pleased and embarrassed.

"And Vila back there was a leading chef by day, poetess by night. She could play a mean," and she paused, eyes searching, "I don't believe I know the word in your language. It is a musical instrument, which sounds in the range of a woman's low voice, and is played by the breath."

"Maybe an oboe?" Alex said. 

Vila shook her head: "I do not know that word. We never received a cultural introduction."

Alex winced and nodded. "Like I said, you have the seven of us and anyone else we can pull in, to introduce you to things, to give you space, to try to --"

He paused, eyes closing. "Michael and I always say, there's no time machines. We can't go back to the past, cannot possibly heal the harm caused by my father and others of my species. But if we can include you in our lives, if we can bring you joy, we want to," he rolled his lips between his teeth, trying to say it right: "We want to help you build the lives you came here for."

Vila leaned forward: "Did you not tell Mara that you had the console nearly prepared? Why build lives here when we can return to Antar?"

Alex nodded, "I should have said that to start. Yes, we are building the ship. Michael is for the most part, he's the best engineer among us. If any of you are able to help, it would be gratefully accepted."

Mara glanced back at Vila.

"Do you always speak so -- formally?"

And Alex ducked his head. "I'm sorry, I just -- it's my first time meeting the family of someone I am, with," he stumbled, "I -- I just don't want to screw this up for Michael."

Mara telegraphed clearly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate the care you're putting into our rescue. It shows your heart, and your love for my son. We will have time to get used to each other."

"Particularly if we're going to make the 10 earth week flight back to Antar together in that tin can, or what's left of it." Vila said, turning to Mara. "This time, can you keep the bean out of the regular rotation? If I have to sit next to Arix farting for 10 weeks again, I will do the thing Jim Valenti always threatened to do, but for real."

Alex felt his eyes widen and then his brain shifted gears. These women, all of these elders, weren't just like the kids in his self-defense class. They were battle veterans. They could use gallows humor, could give each other shit, could joke about what they'd gone through, just as much as he and the men on his squad could.

Mara brought the conversation back, eyes looking sharp.

"If you had to play me one song to introduce me to earth music, because everything you show us in these next few days will be the first of what we've seen, what would it be?"

And Alex -- his mind boggled. Crying and wretching, shivering and shaking, terror and pain, he'd been prepared for that. Sass, he was utterly unarmored against.

"Umm," he said.

"Quick, now," Mara said, clearly enjoying his slight discomfort. "Thinking about it more won't give you the right answer. What song do you want to play us?"

"Siri, play 'Take Me to Church.'" 

He paused it before it began and started to try to explain about blues music, the history of African Americans in the US, the history of gospel and slavery and Smokey Robinson and --

"Shhhh," Mara said. "Let us hear what the music has to say first." 

> _My lover's got humor_  
>  _She's the giggle at a funeral_  
>  _Knows everybody's disapproval_  
>  _I should've worshiped her soone_ r

When it finished, Mara rolled her hand in the air in what Alex took for a signal to play it again. They played it five times without speaking before they pulled into the rest stop.

As they were pulling in, she turned to him, eyes bright and smiling, and said: "I'm starting to see what might be good about this place. It's not all stone-faced men with black-and-white worlds. Your people know about sacrifice and love and grey."

Alex nodded and immediately opened-up the Signal group chat: 

> Alex: Mara wants to listen to music that 'represents earth' and I have no idea what to play and I can't just play PaTD songs -- help.

Then he circled around the truck to help Vila out of her seatbelt.

\--

When Max arrived, at the rest stop, each of the Antarans was getting changed in the bathroom. By the time he arrived, Alex examined the GPS components and realized they could _only_ send GIS information, no information about the workings of the collar itself. So he'd removed each collar and stuffed them in a duffle bag. Maria had gotten a range of food and drinks from the vending machine and was gently explaining each piece of it to the Antarans who were interested in the little seating area. Several had opted to lie on the grass, hands scrunching and crunching it, breathing big, free breaths of air.

When Max arrived, he was in his cruiser, uniform as sharp as it ever got, eyes a mix of grim and excited and terrified. He looked over at the collection of elders in their Goodwill best, and his face cracked.

Alex had never hugged Max in his life, couldn't remember touching the man, but there was no one else to do it for him, so he pulled the big man's head down to his shoulder, holding his shaking shoulders, and hanging on as he sobbed. Mara caught his eye over Max's shoulder and rose, eyes steady. She reached the two of them and stood, quiet, waiting. Alex whispered:

"Max," and Max jerked back, scrubbing his eyes, face reddening --

"Alex, I'm so sorry, I don't know --"

"Max," Alex repeated, voice soft. "Can I introduce you to Mara, Michael's Mom?"

Mara's smile was soft and she held open her arms. Max hesitated not sure how to react, and she spoke, voice cracked with disuse. "I saw in Alex's mind that you made my son your brother. I was charged with your care and, oh, it is good to see you grew up strong. A protector. Just like your mother."

And Max took the tiniest of steps forward, and as slow as breathing allowed himself to be gathered up into her arms. He didn't make a sound, but from his ragged breathing, Alex knew he was still struggling with his emotions.

Others of the Antarans had noticed the commotion and as Maria and Kyle explained who Max was, they stepped forward, hands coming to rest on Max's shoulders, his sides. One older man put his hand on Max's neck and Max stiffened before relaxing into the touch. With each additional body, Alex took a step back, until Max was in the center of a ring of his elders, big body protected, shielded by their older frames.

Maria's voice was wondering: "It's a gift to get to do this for them."

"For Mara and the others?" Alex asked, eyes still transfixed on Max's form.

"For all of them." Maria said.

Eventually, everyone began to pull away and Alex stepped back in. "Max, I need you to take their collars south of the border, to Área Natural Protegida Médanos de Samalayuca." He showed Max the location Maria had found on the map.

"You can just dump them someplace. It's a nature preserve, so there shouldn't be much danger of anyone finding them. And since it'll be in Mexico, even Flint should think twice before crossing borders to check-up on what we're doing, much less any of those xenophobic, grandma-torturing fucks who work there."

Max nodded, eyes damp.

"I'll get back late tonight, but -- maybe breakfast tomorrow? With everyone?"

Alex nodded. "That sounds perfect."

\--

Most of the music Isobel and Liz recommended wasn't on Alex's phone, so in the remaining hour on their drive, so Mara ended-up picking and choosing based on the names and album art on Alex's phone. She picked-up some part of the iPhone interface fairly quickly, while other parts were mystifying.

Vila loved Florence + the Machine and Sia and EXO, finding the Korean just as incomprehensible as the English but liking the beats and synthetic complexity of it anyway. Mara preferred Shakey Graves and the Black Keys and Barns Courtney.

Partway through "Little Boy," Alex glanced back and realized Vila had tipped over on her side. He started to pull the car over to check on her when Mara held up her hand, reaching back to put her two slim fingers against Vila's wrist.

"Just sleeping." she said, eyes soft. "This is probably the softest place she's gotten to sleep since -- well, since we landed."

Alex clenched his jaw, taking the final turn before they would reach his home.

"We have enough beds for all of you, but in two different places --"

Mara nodded: "Kyle told us. We've worked it out. Vila and I and Jamarsh, one of the men in the other car," will stay with you and Michael if that is alright. Arix and the other two will stay with Kyle at the cabin with the 'creepy basement fortress.'" She said with a quirk of her lips.

"Sounds like a plan," Alex said. He could see Isobel and Michael, both standing on the porch. Isobel was holding the flowers Michael had picked out and Michael the box of chocolates.

Alex slowed on the way down the driveway, looking at Mara's, whose eyes had become huge, leaning forward, hands gripping the dash.

"Are you ready for this?"  
  
She nodded, speechless for the first time since she'd left Caulfield.

Mara was out of the truck before Alex had gotten his seatbelt off, feet light on the smooth sand of the driveway, throwing her arms around both Isobel and Michael. Vila was still struggling with her seatbelt, so Alex helped her with that. Then she set her shoulders, and marched over to join the hug on the porch. Each of the others, some moving slower, some shuffling, some with eyes still glazed, others as sharp as Mara seemed to be, made their way to their long lost children, wrapping them in a tight, warm hug and just -- holding on. 

Alex, Mara, and Kyle hung back, leaning back against Alex's truck, shoulders touching, trying to give them as much time, as much space, as they needed. Then Isobel raised her head up, her face streaked with free-flowing tears, and jerked her chin a little.

Alex shook his head. He didn't want to intrude.

"Alex," Isobel said, voice cracking, "Maria, Kyle, get in here."  
  
Alex glanced at Michael and -- there it was. The small nod. He nudged Kyle's shoulder and took Maria's elbow.

"You heard the woman."

They climbed up the porch and Vila stuck out an arm, snagging Alex in close to her, leaning against his side with a tired sigh. He tucked Kyle in next to him, another woman reaching out for Maria, folding her into the mix.

There were tears and hard breaths and also looks of such peace, such comfort, Alex felt his heart press against his breastbone. Then a familiar scarred finger found his, he didn't know how, but suddenly he was holding Michael's hand, in the thick mix of his family, and nothing, nothing had never felt more like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a variation of the question Mara asked asked of me last year, when a friend from Gaza was staying over. She'd never seen a movie, of any kind. 29, brilliant programmer, just -- she'd grown-up in a highly isolated community, with access to the internet and the ability to work in high tech spaces, but none of the freedom of information I'm privileged to have. The question was -- what is the first movie an adult, religiously observant Muslim woman should watch? I decided on Star Trek IV: the Voyage Home, since it is nerdy, based in San Francisco (near where I live), is beautiful and hopeful and geeky like my friend. Now it's my favorite cocktail party question -- if you had to show someone one movie to convince them that watching movies is a worthwhile thing, what movie would you pick?
> 
> The songs in this chapter were:  
> \- Torres - "New Skin"  
> \- Torres - "The Exchange"  
> \- Hozier - "Take Me to Church"  
> \- James Courtney - "Little Boy"
> 
> And, though it's not written here, the songs Mara liked here:  
> \- Shakey Graves - "Dearly Departed" and "Built to Roam"  
> \- Black Keys - "Little Black Submarine" and "Gold on the Ceiling"  
> \- Barns Courtney - "Little Boy" and "Glitter and Gold" and "The Attractions of Youth" and "Champion"
> 
> And the songs Vila liked were:  
> \- Florence + The Machine - "Dog Days Are Over" and "Cosmic Love"  
> \- Sia - "Elastic Heart"  
> \- EXO - "What Is Love"
> 
> Comments are amazing! They make me super happy and make writing this so much more joyful.


	24. Four Weeks, Five Days, 10 Hours

Mara was the first of the family to break the hug. She looked over Michael and Vila's shoulders, out to the winding, sand-strewn path sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Alex had ended-up sharing her hug as he held Michael's hand and so he got to see her eyes widen, glance up at her son, eyes narrow again.

She said: "Did human hands make that path?"

Michael wasn't the most present at that moment, a little overwhelmed: "Make what?"

She gestured with her chin. He looked over.

"No, uh, I made that for Alex."

"With you _hands_?"

He shook his head. Maternal pride moved across Mara's face.

"You all know your gifts."

He said: "I never really thought of it as a gift. Max certainly didn't when he was exploding lightbulbs every time he --" and then he shut up.

There was a very motherly look on Mara's face, like she had an idea of exactly when teenaged boys started exploding lightbulbs. But she let it go.

"Where does such a special path lead?"

Michael's mind seemed to have gotten snagged, like a boat in a river, on the word "special" so Alex answered for him: "My mother bought this house when she moved off of the Mescalero reservation. One of the reasons she loved it here is there's a natural hot spring in the back."

"Michael turned it into an _oasis_ ," Isobel said, from inside someone else's arms. "It's beautiful. You should see it."

Mara's eyes were bright: "I would love to," then she looked around, "But first, I think everyone here could use a chance to rest. Maria said we were divided between two homes?"

"Of course," Alex said, "You must be exhausted. We can get some food started and then head to the cabin --"

Isobel made a muffled sound of irritation. "You think we spent the whole day here and didn't make any food? How long do you think it takes to make over _one_ hideous, awful room?"

Isobel extracted herself from the hug and opened the front door. The smell of cinnamon and cider, chili and fresh-cut lemons swept out onto the porch.

Alex followed her into the room, letting Michael, Maria, and Kyle guide the rest. The table was filled with not one big feast, but two dozen tapas plates. _Trust Isobel to figure out a way to feed 6 people she'd never met, give everyone a chance to find something they liked, and give them a choice._

Mara stepped up beside Alex. "Did you two do all this for us?"

Isobel spread her arms: "Welcome home. Let Michael and Alex give you the grand tour."

About half of the elders went immediately to the couches and chairs, collapsing into them as Kyle and Isobel brought them water, checked if they needed anything else but some quiet in an unfamiliar place. But Mara, Vila, and the man who Alex had communicated with at Caulfield -- who Mara introduced as Jamarsh -- were all interested in the tour.

Alex told them about the couch and the carpets, told an abbreviated version of the story about the color of the paint on the walls. Told them about his mother, how she'd grown-up on the reservation; he left his father out of the story. He showed them the massive bath and Michael jumping in to argue Alex had liked the color of the Gulf so much because he loved his truck. He showed them the handrails, told them about Iraq, his injury.

Their eyes were bright and interested, Mara asking sharp, attentive questions. Alex showed them the guest bedrooms, but the open door of the master bedroom draw him back and back. He kept finding himself glancing at it, like wiggling a loose tooth, he wanted to see how much it hurt and when he stepped through the doorway --

It didn't. It was, to put it mildly, a very queer room now. 

Isobel and Michael had painted the walls a grey lavender, with a huge fucking rainbow across the biggest part of the wall. The bed frame was simple white-painted wood centered on a thick white carpet. The side walls were covered in the previously-banned band posters, which Michael claimed they'd found at Goodwill but Alex suspected they had been collecting for some time now, waiting for an occasion to spring them on him. There was Brendon Urie, there was Billie Joe Armstrong. The _American Idiot_ 's tour poster was framed in thick, dark wood, stark and centered in the middle of the wall.

Isobel joined them on the tour: 

"The bathroom walls are the same turquoise as the tiles in the bath, and I found some kind of vinyl to cover the pale green tile to make it look like art tiles. Until we get a budget to actually replace it, because right now, it's all very 1960s psyche ward in there."

Alex's mind was a flurry, racing between Caulfield and the master bedroom, everything good and everything bad in his life all whirling together -- and he hugged Isobel, ignoring her sound of surprise and giving her a chance to settle into it.

"It's beautiful," he said. "It is so much better."

"I picked out the paint!" Michael said, and Alex looped him into the hug, voice low: "I can hug you anytime, I wanted to thank Isobel especially."

Michael nodded, ego somewhat soothed.

"If you want to thank me, you can get everyone back to the dining room before the food gets cold," Isobel said, and Alex pulled back. In his mother's mirror he caught Mara's eyes. They were wet, looking around the room, but mostly at them, the three of them, standing together, supporting each other.

"Ready for some food?"

"Yes!" Vila said, with a bit more force than necessary before she marched back to the front of the house. Mara smiled, and followed in her wake.

They all sat down at two tables -- Isobel had rearranged the living-room to allow 10 people to comfortable eat together.

Things got tough for a few minutes. There had apparently been some intense and specific trauma about food dispensation, preparation, management. Not everyone was comfortable using forks. One of the older women started crying when she picked-up a knife to cut some meat. Alex wasn't sure he could hate Caulfield more than he did at that moment. But he kept it to himself, since his emotional reactions weren't the point today.

Isobel got a box of tissues and sat it down next to her, conversation flowing around her and seeming to help her as much as the tissues. Mara nodded and Alex felt a bit of relief; one breakdown handled right. It was mid-afternoon by the time they finished, Mara insisting on learning how the dishwasher worked and the others roving around the house, touching the hangings, using the rails.

When Mara broached the subject of the group splitting and heading to their separate sleeping places, a number of the ones with the least verbal skills -- Alex couldn't tell if it was in any language or just in English -- became incredibly distressed,. Mara spent an hour trying to explain to them, comforting them, holding them, but in the end, the proposed they _all_ go to the cabin, to get them settled in, and then return to the the house.

They loaded into the trucks, taking a turn driving with Mara in the passenger seat. Alex, Jamarsh and one of the elders going to stay in the cabin took the middle row.

Mara asked: "I was thinking, when we get back, we could go and see the hot spring you built, Michael."

Alex glanced at the rearview mirror and saw this, perfect flash of pride across his face.

"I -- I hope you like it," he said, his voice quiet. Mara raised her hand, making sure he saw it before resting it on his shoulder. "It sounds like you built it with love. There are those of our people who believe the power transference that comes from killing is our highest source of power, but those of us who know love, know that's not the case."

"Speaking of," and she turned so she could see Alex's face. "I didn't see the man who called himself Noah in the group today. Isobel, she was the one he was targeting?"

Alex nodded, feeling his face set into grim lines, pulling his phone out. "We're keeping Noah in one of the pods that Michael and Isobel and Max used to survive the 50 years after the crash."

Mara's eyes were wide, mouth setting into a frown. Alex showed her the security footage on the screen, Noah's face glowing gently in the purple neon of the pod. 

She sucked-in a breath, finger hovering over the image: "The cotyledon isn't being fed properly, which means the pod is weakening. I can only imagine it lasted this long from sheer stubbornness; plants can give most sentients a run for our money when it comes to bloody-minded persistence. It looks," she squinted, "It looks like it will hold another few hours at least; but let's not let the sun set before we set that properly, or he could break through."

Michael's eyes were wide in the rearview, looking as panicked as Alex felt.

"Are you sure?"

His mother nodded. "The pods are organic, not tech; like seed pods. They need energy to survive and after caring for you three for a half of your centuries, they were nearly depleted."

"What -- how do we feed it?"

Mara's smile was bright: "Plants need water, sunlight, nutrients. It will recharge quickly with some water and a bit of sunlight. Water should be enough to hold it through the night."

Alex nodded, beginning to text the Signal group.

Michael asked: "How much water are we talking?"

\--

The answer, it turned out, was about 120 gallons. After Mara got everyone settled at the cabin and Maria headed to the Wild Pony to get it open for the afternoon, Alex, Michael, Mara, Vila, and Jamarsh went to the cave where Noad was being kept. Michael moved the pod out into the sunlight with his powers as Mara coached him on the right location and Alex watched, ready to brain Noah with Michael's tire iron if something went wrong. With the sun fading, Mara said they needed to water a pod.

"It was probably fed by rainwater while you were down there, but if you've had some dry summers --"

Alex nodded: "It's been a bad decade for the planet."

Mara looked around, taking a long sniff: "A bad industrial revolution it looks like. But that's a problem for another day." She ran her hands consideringly over the pod with Noah's crumbled form curled-up inside it.

"About 120, I believe you call them gallons, should get this to full strength. Water and a few hours a sunlight once a month, and you should be fine indefinitely. Don't do that, and he'll break-out within days, depending on his strength."

Alex sent the instructions out to the group chat and everyone who was leaving work began to scramble, figuring out who could go to which gas station to buy it one gallon at a time when Maria texted:

 

 

> Maria: Guys, I've got this.

Maria rolled-up with a pick-up truck and 6 wine barrels.

Alex sidled up to her as she was getting out.

"Each of those is, what, 50 gallons?"

"60," she said, patting the side. "I got them cheap in Albuquerque a few years ago, was thinking of using them as highboys but never got around to setting them up. They've been in storage, so I made Max load them up for me."

"And they're full of water?" Mara asked.

Maria nodded: "The best water the back hose could provide."

Mara smiled: "Good enough. We can keep them in the cave, set-up a rainwater sequestration system so you don't have to haul them back-and-forth."

"Perfect," Maria said.

Michael levitated one of the barrels over to Noah's pod, the heavy barrel shaking in the air. Alex slipped his arm around his waist, fingers pressing tight against his hip, and the barrel stabilized. Mara's eyes crinkled with her smile, but she didn't say anything else as she watered the pod.

Together, Alex and Michael got the remaining barrels inside, Maria guiding them down into the mine with gentle fingers, careful of the surveillance equipment. Michael floated Noah's pod back inside when the last of the light was fading.

"I think we may have to leave the hot spring until tomorrow," Mara said, stifling a yawn. Vila and Jamarsh were already napping in the back of Alex's truck.

The drive home was quiet, Michael holding Alex's hand across the center console, thumb smoothing up and down the long line of his thumb as he drove with one hand. Carbon Leaf played from Michael's phone:  

 

 

> _I see you've found a box of my things -_  
>  _Infantries, tanks and smoldering airplane wings._  
>  _These old pictures are cool. Tell me some stories_  
>  _Was it like the old war movies?_  
>  _Sit down son. Let me fill you in._

Everyone settled into bed, Isobel having laid-out sleeping clothes before she left to go to Max's for the night. Mara hugged both Alex and Michael goodnight, and went to sleep in the former master bedroom.

Alex and Michael put away the dishes that had been left drying in the wrack, and stood in the kitchen for long moments, arms around each other, silent as they listened to the house go to bed, breathing in the quiet sounds of family all around them.

\--

Alex awoke to the first scream, stumbling out of bed, cursing and scrambling for his cane as he grabbed for the knife he kept in the back of his sock drawer. Michael got the light on and was out the door and into the hallway, hands raised.

The second scream cut through the quiet of the house, and Alex could barely hear it over his pounding blood. He made it into the hallway, cane in one hand, knife in the other, to find the door to Vila's room open. The light flashed on and he saw Michael, kneeling beside her bed, voice gentle.

"It's a dream, it's a dream you're safe."

Vila thrashed in the bed, composed face a rictus of terror, hands clawing at the sheets. Michael shifted the sheets away from her with his mind, and her body slowed, stilled. Alex felt someone brush past him, jerking away from the motion, only to see Jamarsh coming into the room. He spoke in quiet tones, in a language that was not English, and Vila opened her eyes, hands open and begging. He lowered himself to sitting on the bed, hand on Michael's shoulder to balance, and Vila collapsed against his chest.

He nodded to Michael and Alex. "I've got her," he said. Michael was frozen, his back a long, harsh line of concern. 

But then he stood, voice quiet: "There's cocoa in the kitchen, let us know if you need anything?"  
  
Jamarsh nodded and gestured for them to close the door.

They did and stood in the hallway, hearing Vila's desperate sobs.

Alex didn't sleep well the rest of the night.

\--

The next morning, bleary-eyed and stiff, Alex got-up only to find Michael was already gone, his side of the bed cool to the touch. Alex stretched his arms up, trying to loosen the stress-hardened muscles, arching up. He settled back down and tried to take stock. 

Night terrors were to be expected. His reaction, while not ideal, wasn't as mortifying as he'd felt it was the night before, when he'd kept himself up shouting in his mind about how he should have gone to comfort her, not stood in the doorway with a knife as long as his forearm.

He heard a gentle knock on the door and said: "Come in."

It was Michael, bearing --

"Sweet, sweet caffeine," Alex said, making grabby-hands for the mug. Michael smiled, handing it over and sitting beside him, arm going behind his back. Alex leaned into him gratefully, tipping his head against his shoulder.

"They wake-up ok?"

Michael nodded.

"We've got a few hours before I need to get to work. You're ok to handle them during the day today?"

Alex nodded. He'd gotten permission to work from home through the end of the week. He'd canceled his planned trip to Colorado Springs, arranging for a replacement speaker. Without that to attend, there really wasn't much he hadn't wrapped-up before going to Caulfield. His bosses understood, and were honestly glad he was still as engaged in his work as he was, senioritus being a real and constant disease of those nearly done with their terms of service.

"Thank you," Michael said, voice soft. "I'm going to confirm with Sanders they're ok to come to work with me, but I'd rather do that without them watching from the truck if I can manage it."

Alex smiled: "Not that Sanders could see they were watching from the truck."  


Michael smiled a little.

"So, breakfast?" Michael asked. "Jamarsh is already out there, asking to learn how to make pancakes. Apparently there was a cook in the 1960s who made them and he's missed them ever since."

It was a moment when Alex wanted to collapse under the weight of the pain of the elders in the front room. But then he forced himself to focus: if Jamarsh could be excited about pancakes, then Alex could be excited about teaching him.

He breathed in his coffee for a bit more fortitude and stood.

"Let's do this."

\--

When Michael got back from work, Vila and Jamarsh were taking naps, so he, Mara, and Alex walked to the hot spring together. Alex told him about their day, cooking and talking, mostly resting and quietly working. Mara had begun to plan-out a garden for around the house; Vila had commandeered Alex's phone to watch videos of famous oboists. Jamarsh had mostly napped on the porch, dragging out sleeping bags and making a veritable nest that Alex had decided not to question.

Michael told them about the cars he'd fixed, filling the walk with funny stories about misplaced keys and misunderstood engines. When Mara heard the sound of the water fall, she sped up, so both Alex and Michael missed the look on her face when she first saw it. But they saw her body. She stood, evening sun shining off her bald head, hands out on either side of her, mauve flowing clothing wavering around her in the evening breeze. With the red rock in front of her, the pool sparkling in the last light of the day, she looked like a painting, something from an artist showing what it means to be wild and free.

She turned to them, grinning and eyes bright: "This is beautiful, Michael," she said. 

She slipped off her sandals and hiked-up her skirt and waded into the pool, making her way to the ledge where she could dangle her feet in the water without soaking her clothing. She kicked her feet back-and-forth, creating rippling swirls in the warm water. Michael and Alex join her, soaking their jeans to the knees with Alex's prosthetic in its usual resting place, but neither of them caring.

Michael's voice held so much pride, Alex thought he just might burst from it: "The cave has the language of Antar on it, a guide home."

And Alex could have smacked his forehead, but he drew his phone from his pocket instead.

"Yesterday, I got Flint to give me a tour of the engine. Michael, it had the same language on it."

He pulled up the video, showing it to Michael and also texting it to the Signal group, the shady LTE uploading it slow-by-slow-by-slow. Michael's eyes were wide, but Mara's were stark.

"I never thought I'd see it again," she said, voice cracking. Her hand hovered over the screen, fingertip brushing the shape of the engine enough to pause the video. She brushed it again to resume it, and said wetly: "I missed her."

Michael's arm went around her shoulder and Alex took the phone back, wanting to apologize.

Mara shook her head. "With the engine, we are so many lightyears closer to going home than we would be without. Emptying Caulfield and getting the reactor, that's the plan?'

"Yes," Michael said, "As quickly as we can."

Mara nodded. "Good."

She looked out over the sunset, the reds and pinks and oranges fading into the deep purple-black of the nighttime sky.

"I wanted to ask -- how much do you know of your gifts? This," she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the hot spring, "This is incredibly advanced for someone of your age."

Michael ducked his head.

She continued: "Can you show me?" Mara held up her hand, palm facing them both.

Michael glanced at Alex, trying to see if he had an idea of where she was going with this. He shrugged.

Her eyes were closed, her face was peaceful. After a long moment, she opened her eyes and lowered her hand.

"Oh," she said, "You don't remember." She seemed a little flustered. "I'm sorry, this is -- this is something children are taught on Antar. Mothers teach it to their babies when they are nursing. When you were small -- well, this will be interesting. I've never taught it to an adult before. Where to start?"

She took a breath. "We can communicate via touch, not just in the wordless way of all living things, but by sharing specific memories, thoughts. It's -- visual. Alex, I believed you communicated with Jamarhs at Caulfield using this method. How would you explain it?"

"It's like, sharing a part of your mind. If you create walls, restrict what the other person can see. Just think of a display case and put what you want to share in it -- or maybe a room. The Airstream. Fill the Airstream with what you want to share --"

"'The Airstream,' is that what you're calling our ship?" Mara asked.

"No, uh, it's where Michael lives." Alex answered.

"The house?"

"No, it's um, a vehicle."

"Do many people live in vehicles here?"

Michael cut-in: "People who don't have money do."

"And you," Mara looked sharply at Alex, "had him live there?"

Michael's voice matched her sharpness: "Alex was at war. I was doing my best."

Mara held up both her hands, looking chided: "It sounds like there are stories and stories to more than fill the time before we go back to Antar. I'm sorry for prying."

Alex nodded, Michael softening: "We've got time."

She re-focused: "Taking a step back: I want to get a sense of what you have and what you need, as it relates to your gifts."

She held up her hand again: "You'll place your palm against mine here."

Michael went to clasp her hand when Mara pulled back, looking at Alex. "I'm sorry, would you like to come with?"

"I'm fine," he said.

Michael bumped his shoulder: "If you don't mind, I'd like to show you. It's not an invasion if I'm inviting you in."

Alex nodded and held up his hand, Mara's worn palm connecting with his as she grasped Michael's -- and they were in the Airstream.

The bed was made in a way that Alex had never, in any of his visits, seen it made, with hospital corners and a perfect pile of pillows. The air smelled the same, like gently-aging linoleum and dust and diesel. But on every surface, every wall, counter, and cabinet, were tilted picture frames, moving like in Harry Potter, each showing Michael, Max, and Isobel at different ages using their powers.

Alex and Mara moved through the Airstream, looking at each photo.

Above the sink: a gold-framed picture of Isobel in high school with her eyes closed, hand on Liz's shoulder.

Leaning against the steering wheel: a framed vision of Michael burying a body in the desert, held in a thin black frame.

Large and gold framed in the passenger seat: Max bringing Liz back to life.

"Ah," Alex heard behind him, seeing Mara holding a small wallet photo carefully in her hand. "You each discovered that different people are good at different things. You tried to keep your gifts hidden as much as you possibly could in a hostile environment." She took a breath, looking over at them, voice steady. "The job of children is to survive, and you all did that. Without parents to protect you, you were right -- you did the best you could."

Michael was leaning with his hips back against the cabinets, hands braced on either side of him, and there was a softness in his body, relaxed, feeling safe. Alex came to stand beside him and Michael reached over to grip his fingers.

Mara's eyes were sharp: "I am proud of all of you. I also have harder questions."

Michael nodded. 

"You all began to test the limits of your powers about six months ago, when Liz came back to Roswell. But," and she looked around, "There were other times, other moments of crisis, when you could have begun learning." She held-up the photo in her hand, and Alex caught a hint of golden light, and a guitar.

"Why not here?"

And they were in the shed, in their younger bodies, Alex tying his shoes and Michael standing shirtless beside him, hand on his back, and Alex felt ripped to pieces, knowing what was coming, knowing he should be standing, be getting between Michael and danger, but unable to get up -- if only he'd left earlier, taken Michael with him -- and he wanted to enjoy these last seconds of peace, the warm feeling that had filled his body at Michael's touch, the rightness that had come of caring and being cared for, the innocence in Michael's smile, his touch --

Jesse Manes opened the door, hate in his eyes and Alex was standing, begging and -- Jesse froze. Mara stepped around him, avoiding even letting the trailing edge of her flowing skirt touch his khaki. Her face was cold fury, her hands clenched at her sides, and Alex didn't know if he wanted to get in front of her or stand behind her. Michael stayed beside Alex, hand bruising-tight on his shoulder. It was a pain Alex welcomed, a grounding pain, one he hadn't felt in this memory, in this terrible, rending moment.

Then Mara reached up, two fingers pressed tightly together, and plunged them into Jesse's forehead -- and he disappeared with a _pop_.

She turned to them: "It took me a moment to find this place, I'm sorry for my delay." She turned around, surveying the room. "You're right," she said to Alex, "The light in here is beautiful." She took a deep breath: "I can see there are a lot of strong emotions here. This is where you lost use of your left hand?"   
  
Michael could barely nod, his body was held so stiffly. Alex's eyes were wide, fixed on the doorway, certain Jesse was going to come back through it at any minute, holding that hammer and that future of pain.

Mara followed his gaze to the open doorway and said quietly: "You got rid of him in the waking world, yes? In such a ways as he won't ever bother you again?"

Alex barely sketched out a nod.

"But this place still holds pain and joy for you, all tangled up together." Another nod. "Then this is something I can teach you both. When a memory that brings pain comes, you can see parts of it but not let it take you apart." She paused. "How do I explain -- do you have oceans here?"

Michael nodded.

"So, in the oceans of Antar, you can swim through the waves but also on top of them."

"We call that 'surfing.'" Alex said.

"'Surfing,'" she repeated, smiling: "Because you're on the surface. And when you're 'surfing' you can look down and see through the water, to the places where you would be swimming, where you might be trapped and unable to breathe, but you're not, because you're on the surface?"

"Yes," Alex said.

"'Surfing' it is then. If you want, I can teach you how to 'surf' through memories, through places like this," she gestured to the tool shed, "so that you can see them, perhaps see the beauty of them, without getting caught in a whirlpool of pain."

"That would be amazing," Michael said, looking around at the room, shoulders hunched against a blow he knew would come.

"Lovely." she said, "Now I have a sense of how I'm going to earn my keep around here."

Michael choked: "You don't have to earn --"

She looked around at the posters, the guitar, the quiet yellow light filling the space and said: "Let's talk about this someplace else."

She reached forward to grip their hands and they were somewhere else.

Alex's breath punched out of his chest: "Wow." 

He said, standing-up, body looser than it had been all day.

Mara spoke, voice musical: "This was my home on Antar, before the war came. It's where I like to spend my time when where I really am isn't nearly as pleasant."

Alex wasn't sure where to start processing his new surroundings. He started with the light: it was gently blue, like the air in an aquarium. 

There were plants everywhere, with leaves in a hundred shapes he'd never seen.

He pressed his hand to a brown wall, flowing with a complex, whorling grain: "Is this alive?" He asked, wonder in his voice.

Mara smiled: "Yes, on Antar we grew our buildings. We can speak with them," she raised her hand, pressing it to the wall beside Alex's hand, palm glowing gently red. "Not how you and I speak, but just as we would speak to a child in their language, we can speak to the trees in theirs. They give us the gift of home and we give them the gift of care."

"'The gift of care,'" Michael repeated, feeling the words rolling around his mouth. "I think I know something about that," he said, pressing his hand to the wall beside his mother's. His eyes drifted closed.

Alex couldn't hear anything, but from the way Michael's face moved, he was experiencing something strange and beautiful. The tenor of the light changed, becoming more green, and Alex watched as a great emerald frond lowered itself in front of the window.

Mara pulled her hand back with a sigh, Michael wrenching himself away with a gasp: "It can be intense, the first time."

He nodded, backing into Alex until Alex's arm went around his waist.

Mara moved past them, sitting at a table that seemed to rise from the wood of the floor, dark and curling.

"If you'll allow me, I would like to teach both of you to manage the kind of painful memories we saw before. Nothing we can do will change them and I would never remove them -- losing our memories denies us a part of ourselves, however painful it is. But I can teach you other ways to survive them." She paused. "I am not good at getting help without giving something back. Having something to teach, it would mean a great deal to my sense of equilibrium."

Alex gripped Michael's hand and said: "We would be proud to learn."

Mara's smirked: "Again with that formal language -- we'll work on that too. Now, what else can I show you of Antar?"

\--

They fell into an easy rhythm in that first week. Michael successfully convinced Sanders that he'd re-united with his birth Mom and her two chatty friends, and they spent the days he was working reading and napping under the shade. There were a tense few hours there where Sanders tried his luck flirting with Mara, but as Michael told it, she'd dissuaded him using only her tone of voice and a few pointed questions, no use of her gifts needed.

The nights remained difficult. Alex resorted to ear plugs and then finally playing music, but it was impossible to sleep through the night terrors Vila and Mara had left Caulfield with. Michael had found a fount of patience to handle them that Alex wouldn't have guessed he had, but that didn't stop Alex's nerves from feeling frayed.

He finally spoke to Kyle and Kyle arranged for Max and Liz to take evening shifts, Michael and Alex heading to the Airstream for two nights of the week. That helped a lot, and gave them some space to recover.

But in between Mara teaching Michael to speak mind-to-mind and Vila planning out a garden with her and the dopy smile Alex caught drifting across Michael's face as he cooked a dinner for 13, Alex looked forward to getting the rest of Michael's family free.

 \--

Alex kept waiting for Michael's truck to take them someplace other than where he thought they were going. The Mountain Goats were playing on Michael's phone as Alex watched him drive:

> _Do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive_  
>  _Do every stupid thing to try to drive the dark away_  
>  _Let people call you crazy for the choices that you make  
>  _ _Climb limits past the limits  
>  _ _Jump in front of trains all day_

It was after work on a Thursday and Kyle was hosting dinner, with Max and Liz giving everyone from Alex's house a ride in. Michael had insisted they need an evening to themselves, and the group had agreed to help make it happen. Alex had visited Caulfield the day before, but they were in a holding-pattern until they figured out how to contain the powers of those left, and figured out where they could sleep.

They pulled up to the Patient Parking at the hospital. Alex turned to Michael and asked:  
  
"It's our first real date in two weeks and you want to spend it at the hospital?"

Michael was gripping the wheel, clenching his jaw and Alex softened.

"Hey," Alex said in a gentler voice, "What's going on?"

"So, I was -- we've got three weeks left. And then, there's a plan."

Alex felt heat rise in his face. "Yeah. I know about the plan."

"There's a plan. And it's a plan we should both get tested before."

"Ah," Alex said. "I had sort of figured that since you couldn't get sick --"

Michael's shoulders were close to his ears: "I don't know if that means I can't get _you_ sick. And I've been careful, but also in a very real way, not so careful. Sometimes. So, I figured," he took a breath, "Liz agreed to do my bloodwork, and she said she could do yours --"

Alex was shaking his head hard enough his eyes had trouble tracking the movement--

"Or, on Saturday, we can go by Planned Parenthood in the morning since Max and Isobel are taking the elders on a hike."

"I've never been to a Planned Parenthood before."

"I've taken a range of folks there," and then Michael back-peddled, "not because of anything I did. but, you know, a guy makes friends. Sometimes those friends get knocked-up and don't want to be knocked-up anymore. Or they need their well-woman check-up."

"You took your bar friends to Planned Parenthood?" Alex said, seeing it in his mind's eye.

"Well, I have to use that macho cowboy swagger for something, and the protesters would rather pick on a 90 lb woman than me any day."

"Protesters?" Alex asked.

Michael's face sobered: "Yeah, it's the outreach program for the local Catholic churches. The protesters go on Saturdays since they only offer abortions on Saturdays. It's mostly octogenarians, but sometimes the youth group comes over from UNM, with biologically-inaccurate signs and generally-shitty behavior. We can go to the hospital if you don't want to be hassled --"

"No, I'm not going to be bullied away from a clinic. I didn't know they did stuff for cis guys, though."

Michael quirked a smile: "Don't be fooled by what you've picked-up osmotically from Fox news in the base gym. It's just a normal clinic. They've got better music than the hospital and sometimes volunteers bring cookies."

Alex smiled: "Ok, so the plan is that we'll go to Liz's lab, get you tested, then me on Saturday?"

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "She had to look-up how to do this kind of check-up, since it's not her usual thing. She let me know -- I'm probably going to have to go through my, history," Michael said to the backs of his hands.

"Do you want me in there for that part?" Alex asked.

Michael shrugged, still not looking up.

"Yeah, no, Rule 5. You have to use your words with this one. And, for what it's worth, I don't need to know everything you've done in the last 10 years. I can get a coffee while you go through it."

Michael looked over at him: "Yeah, if it's ok, I'll do that part on my own. Gotta leave some mystery in the relationship. But, for the blood-draw --"

"I'll distract you," Alex said with a grin, rubbing his hand up-and-down Michael's arm where they sat in the quiet of the truck's cab, the ticking-down of the engine the only sound but their breathing.

"Well, hopefully not too much, since it'll be Liz doing it and we don't need any more teasing on that front."

"True," Alex said. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of Michael's cheek. You ready to go in?"

"Yep," Michael said.

They walked, Alex's hand tight around Michael's.

"Did you think about asking Kyle?" Alex asked as they waited for the elevator.

Michael blanched: "Fuck no. I'm cool with him and all, but I'm not going to go to him to get STD testing so I can safely bareback his bestie."

Alex covered his face as the door opened on the last phrase and a load of elderly people exited the car.

Michael strutted into the elevator, saying in a prim voice: "If you can't talk about it, then you shouldn't be doing it."

Alex rolled his eyes.

They found Liz in her lab and she led them to a room. Michael had to get changed into a paper gown, which was hands-down Alex's least favorite part of the base hospital where he'd done his initial rehab. 

Michael gripped his hand tight during the exam and then Alex went to get them coffee at the cart downstairs as Liz went through the high risk behavior list. Then he got a text:

> Michael: That's all it except for the blood draw.

Alex headed back up, Michael looking small in the gown on the table, bare feet kicking bath-and-forth above the linoleum floor. Alex smiled at Liz and hopped-up on the examining room table, his bent knee behind Michael's hips and slinging an arm around his chest.

"This ok?" He asked both of them. Michael nodded, relaxing into him. Liz smiled, expression gentle.

Alex nodded to Liz and then put his lips to Michael's ear and said: "What is 27 times 324?"

"What?"

"Close your eyes. What is 27 times 324?"

"8748."

"Ok, what's the square root of 36?"

"6," Michael said, irritation coloring his voice.

"Ok, name me the powers of two from zero to 15 --"

"0, 2, 4 -- OW."

" _Name_ me the _powers_ of _two_ ," Alex said as he watched Liz finish the blood draw. 

Michael kept listing them. 

At "1024," Liz smoothed a Dora The Explorer bandaid on his shoulder.

"All done," she said with a smile, hiding the vial behind her back.

Michael grumbled into Alex's shoulder: "I thought you were going to distract me in some significantly more adult way."

Alex leaned back, echoing Michael's prim face from earlier: "What's more adult than math?"

Liz snickered: "I'm pretty sure if you don't already know, you're going to be finding out, unless Michael decided to get his first medical exam of his entire life were on a whim."  


Alex turned Michael's face to look at him, catching and holding his eye: "This was your first check-up, _ever?_ "

"It's a phobia, with the three of us. We, uh, really don't want to be vivisected."

Alex gripped his hand, feeling worry and protectiveness raging across his expression.

Liz clicked her pen. "Alex, like I told Michael, I'm happy to go over this with you, but you can get this just as well at a clinic."

Alex nodded: "Michael and I are going to Planned Parenthood this weekend."

"Awesome," Liz said, "Say hi to Maria, she's on escort duty this weekend."

"She's on what?" Alex asked.

"She's a volunteer clinic escort -- she walks women past the protesters into the clinic," Liz paused, "I guess, women, and transmen, and nonbinary folks. I'm still getting better at using inclusive language."

"So say we all," Alex said.

"Ok, you're good to go. I'll have your results in -- when was your deadline again?"

"Just three more weeks."

Alex buried his face in Michael's shoulder. 

_Just three more weeks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a clinic escort for my local Planned Parenthood for 5 years, so that's where that last scene came from.
> 
> The music for this one:  
> \- Carbon Leaf's "The War Was in Color"  
> \- The Mountain Goat's "Amy or Spent Gladiator 1"
> 
> Comments are life! Thank you so much to everyone who's been leaving such lovely comments!


	25. Three Weeks, Two Days, 19 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time ever in my fic-writing life, [someone made a photo edit for me](https://jocarthage.tumblr.com/post/185796377473/queersirius-millies-long-list-of-malex-fics)! Thank you to [Milzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/pseuds/Milzilla)!
> 
> Like I mentioned in they last chapter, I was a volunteer clinic escort for 5 years. This is an accurate description of a regular day at one of the clinics I visited. This chapter includes medical questions and situations, but there's no procedures -- but if you need a stronger summary because of a medical trigger, please let me know.

Alex was up before dawn with Vila with her most recent night-terror while Michael helped Jamarsh with his. They'd had the previous night off entirely, but that doesn't make it that much easier. Jamarsh liked to tinker to re-orient his mind after nightmares, so he and Michael were heads-down in the belly of Michael's truck, bright porch lights lighting their way as Michael explains the quirks of the engine. 

Vila liked to walk and swim her way free of her terrors. Alex let her hang onto his arm with a gentle weight as they walk the quiet path to the hot spring. She'd brought her swimming clothes, heading for the dry-stone cabana Mara and Michael had built as she was helping him fine-tune his use of his gift.

Alex looked around the hot spring, the stars just beginning to fade in the eastern sky, the moon still surrounded by the thickly indigo sky in the west. Michael and Mara had spent an hour or more out here every evening they'd both been here, sending their minds out for large flat stones at the surface, or just near it, raising them up -- gently dislodging the snakes and scorpions who called them home -- and floating them low and sure to the hot spring. They'd build the cabana, with a hanging-curtain made of one of Liz's donated rugs, and a dozen garden beds. Mara had smiled at Michael's idea of planting trees, but reminded him how deep desert plants' roots needed to go, and together they'd drilled a dozen feet down.

Mara was planning to raise the plants from seed, to get to know their processes and to save money on planting (they'd also built a protected area for seedlings). Vila takes a while to change, so he takes his own time to walk around, to see all of the new hardscaping Michael has built-in.

The hot spring had always been beautiful. When it was a muddy puddle, it had been beautiful. When it was Michael's oasis for him, it was wondrous. But now it looked _loved_. It had structured; it looked cared for. It looked loved.

"Are you ready, slow-poke?" Vila asked and Alex nodded, having changed in the house.

"After you," he said, and she gleefully splashed into the water. She made straight for the central rock, hanging onto it with clawed hands.

Then she flipped on her back, one arm anchoring herself to the rock, the other tracing the arc of the heavens above her as Alex joined her, floating in the open water, the warmth of it swirling around him, easing his early-morning aches.

"We're from _there,_ " she said, pointing with a definitiveness that Michael had never had. Alex craned his head up, trying to trace the shape of it from his angle.

"What's Antar like?" He asked,

She hummed: "Bloody and cruel, musical and light, house-trees and missile silos, cobalt and emerald and violet, home and sanctuary and prison and death." She paused. "Quiet. Antar was quiet. In a way Caulfield never was. Those whirring, whining lights, what do you call them --"

"Florescents?"

She looked like she would have spat if she wasn't floating in warm water. "A horrible sound like a trapped bee. Nothing good about it. Nothing good much about this place," she said, voice sure even as she moved her body gently in the water. In a softer tone, she said: "Except for this, this place. It's -- you and Mara's son, you have created a home-place. It's something that takes bonded couples decades to do, and you -- you've found a way to build the boundaries, to fill-in the lines, to make it _yours_ and _good_."

Alex frowned up at the sky. "You think so?"

She scoffed. "There is more love in this place than many marriages on Antar ever see. Yes. This is a good place."

She lapsed into silence. He'd gotten to know her moods and once she was done speaking, she was done.

Alex tugged the quiet into himself, rippling it away under his bones, in the thrumming heat of his muscles. 

When he was young, and the winds blew across the desert, he used to feel them blow right through him; like he insubstantial; like he was a ghost. He would feel them blow through him and not a bone, not a muscle, not an eye-lash stopped them.

But as he got older, the wind would catch. Just on a rib, or a piece of gristle in his stomach. But he wasn't invisible anymore; he was solid; he was something that the wind needed to move around.

By the time he met Michael, he was something the wind could flow through only in specific places, at specific times. During thunder storms; when he cried; when he was over-burbling with joy.

Michael's body was the first one he remembered seeing cast a shadow, bending not just the wind, but light itself around him. Gravity touched him differently; Alex touched him differently. He closed his eyes.

Oh, how he wanted to touch Michael differently. The thorny passion, the wordless need he'd felt 10 weeks before had been like trying to eat breakfast with a hunting knife. All edges and pain, all stiff, certain focus, and a certain brutality. Now he had an entire cutlery set to enjoy the feast that was Michael Guerin. He knew the shape of his eyes when he laughed at his siblings, the curve of his hand as he stopped a barrage of his father's bullets, the thanks in his eyes when Alex handed him coffee, the shape of his back when he worked on his truck to help stave off an old man's nightmares.

And he trusted him, not in a way like he trusted a parachute -- that is, in a way that he had no choice. Michael and he were all choices now, all lines in the sand, drawn and held, drawn and moved. He didn't feel like he was throwing a Hail Mary with his heart when he thought of Michael; he knew he was laying it within protecting hands that loved it as much as he did.

He felt safe with Michael, safe in a way, in a home, he'd never had before.

And so when the time came, for them to finally, finally, _finally_ have sex again, it was going to be -- a conversation. A touch, a light, another dialect in the shared language they'd built together. He knew Michael bent the wind in the same way Alex did, and wanted to see how it curved around them now they were joined in all the other ways that mattered.

He felt a splash on his face and opened his eyes to the blue sky of morning above him.

"Isn't your appointment at 8am? Dawn was at 6:07am and it's been at least half-an-hour and I think Michael is going to surprise you with pancakes." Vila said, already heading for the ramp out.

"Wouldn't it be nice to let it be a surprise, then?" Alex muttered under his breath.

"I'm old, not deaf! If he wants it to be a surprise, then he'd going to need to be sneakier with the whisk!"

Alex closed his eyes, counted to 15, and then got out to dry off and wait for Vila to escort him back to the house.

\--

They pulled around the block at 7:45am, Michael driving and having given them 15 minutes "asshole margin." Alex had been too sleepy to ask what he meant, but when they turned the corner to the clinic, he saw: a horde of maybe 150 people, some carrying signs, some in prayer circles, some screaming, some blocking traffic while Sheriff Valenti tried to gesture them back to the sidewalk.

"Oh my God," Alex said, feeling himself frowning. "It's like this _every_ Saturday?"  
  
Michael shook his head. "It's usually about 15 people; the seminary must be giving extra credit again."

Alex turned confused eyes to him and Michael huffed, turning the wheel to find parking a block away.

"There's a seminary in Albuquerque that gives its ethics class extra credit if they go to protests. They arrange for the vans, the meals, the pamphlets. It's this whole thing."

"Yikes." Alex said.

He'd grown-up going to church with his Mom, but the only outreach he'd remembered was providing food and shelter to those who crossed the border on their way north. This kind of mechanized protest wasn't any part of his religious experience.

"It's awful." 

"Now, imagine going through it, alone, scared, barely 18 and pregnant or trying to get birth control. You'll see once we get in the clinic, it's a cool place, but this shitshow," he shook his head, turning in his seat, arm going over the bench behind Alex's head, giving himself room to look behind them to finish parallel parking.

"You know what Maria told me?" 

Alex shook his head.

"She said in 10 years of being a clinic escort, she's never seen a protester change a person's mind. Never. She's seen pregnant people change their minds because of what the doctors tell them, because their plans change. She's seen people scared away, who went to a clinic in a bigger city with less of this crap. But she's never seen a 'sidewalk counselor,'" and here he used massive scare-quotes, "change anyone's mind."

Alex shook his head: "So it's both bullying, traumatizing, and inefficient."

"Yep." Michael said, popping his 'p.'

"Ready for this? How do you want to handle it?" he asked, holding out his hand across the central console.

Alex gripped his fingers tight: "Hand-in-hand," he said with a smile.

"Hand-in-hand it is." Michael said.

There was a tap on the widow and Alex jolted away, yanking Michael away from it before Maria's face materialized for him.

"Hey guys, want an escort in?"

Alex tried to force himself to breathe, his shoulders and chest so tight he was struggling to find room to expand his lungs.

Michael nudged his shoulder gently and undid his seatbelt and got out. The protesters were milling around on the sidewalk, but hadn't followed Maria to their car.

Maria was wearing a smile, a bright yellow jersey that said "Clinic Escort," and hiking boots.

She quirked a smile and spoke in a low voice to Alex and Michael once they joined her.

"How was the drive in?"

"Alright," Michael said, with Alex trying to clock every single person, every possibly armed protester, every skin-head with a massive sign of a blown-up fetus on it.

Maria telegraphed the movement and put her hand on Alex's arm; he kept himself from jerking away, but only barely.

"We're going to walk straight to the door, heads-down. I'll clear the path. Anyone touches you, tell them to step away. Don't react to what they say, don't engage. There will be a metal detector just inside the door, and Andre already knows about your leg, so he'll just wand you once you're through."

She looked between both of them, catching and holding both of their eyes. "Got it?"

"Got it," Michael said, a look of disgust clear on his face.

"Yeah," Alex said, his voice sounding distant.

"Let's go," she said, and started off into the crowd.

She moved -- differently here. In the Wild Pony, she moved people with palms pressed fully to their biceps, the middle of their backs. Here, Maria kept her hands in her pockets, shouldering her way through the massive crowd, voice piercing as she said:

"Excuse me, excuse me, coming through, coming through."

Michael covered Alex's six, keeping him between them. The uneven ground was a pain for his leg and when one of the herds of protesters shoved between him and Maria he froze, Michael tight against his back. They were screaming: "Abortion causes cancer! Contraception causes cancer!"

Alex felt it flipping, the switch that told him he was back home and not in combat, the switch he'd soldered and wired down over months of therapy and practice and reminders, but everything about this was --

"Sorry about that!" Maria shouted brightly, stretching out and arm to clear a path between her and them and inserting herself between two heaving, sweating, screaming red-faced men. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Alex focused on walking quickly, eyes on the ground, holding onto his sense of safety by the skin of his teeth. Then -- a glass door was swinging towards him and he was stepping onto grey industrial carpet and it swung closed, Maria on the other side, wading her way across the tide of protesters, waving to them as he and Michael took what felt like their first breath in hours.

"You're Maria's friends?" The massive man behind the desk asked, waving them towards the metal detector, already standing.

"She said you had a prosthetic?"

Alex nodded.

"Got it, so I'll wand you down on the other side."

He smiled down at Michael: "I'm expecting that belt-buckle to set this off. If you don't mind taking it off, we can save you both some time."

"No problem," Michael said, already unbuckling it. Alex could see, taped-up behind Andre's desk, a half-dozen black-and-white pictures with names, descriptions of features, and descriptions of attacks they'd carried out on clinics. They could have fit-in on any base, or with Wyatt Long and his friends.

Andre noticed his attention and his smile fell a little.

"Those are just the active threats for New Mexico. You should see what Texas clinics have to put up with."

Alex shook his head: "I don't think I'd like to."

Andrew shrugged: "They've got a right to protest. Everyone working here knows it -- heck, I've gone out and gotten rowdy at protests too. As long as everyone stays non-violent, it's copacetic." He paused, "Not comfortable. Never comfortable. But America is a hard religion."

Alex frowned, but concentrated on getting through the security screen.

They went-up a flight of stairs, Michael leading the way as he got his belt back in order. The stairs had a bright mural, scenes from different western state national parks, all spread across it, like he was climbing up inside of Arches and down into the depths of Old Faithful and over El Capitan and through the Narrows, all at the same time. 

Then they were at the top and walked down a short hallway into a large, quiet waiting room. There were two dozen other folks in comfortable chairs. There was a corner with playpen gates and a heap of toys with a few toddlers playing under their mother's watchful eyes. Alex remembered reading somewhere that 2/3 of women who get abortions already have a child and he was glad the clinic made it possible for them to take care of their health and their kids.

The softly off-white walls held gently-curling posters with queer and straight couples and slogans about getting tested, avoiding spousal violence, all of the normal PSA stuff but with a refreshing mix of different faces and bodies and genders.

He signed-in at the front desk, heard they were running about 30 minutes behind because some patients had been delayed by the mess outside, and found a seat. Michael draped an arm over his shoulders, fingers curling tight, thumb smoothing over the seam in his button-up shirt.

His voice was quiet, below the level of the HVAC system:

"That was a lot; I forget, because I've seen it before. I'm sorry --"

Alex shook his head: "I'll need to decompress later, but I'm ok for now."

Michael settled in a little closer beside him, giving Alex the space he needed not to discuss it, but also not letting him think he was alone.

About 20 minutes in, Maria came up on a 5 minute break. She and Michael went to huddle together chatting in the hallway.

Alex glanced down at his phone, keeping the screen carefully not visible for anyone else. He guessed he could have asked someone to take over his shift watching Noah's feed, but except when he was actively getting examined, he shouldn't have a problem keeping an eye on it.

He moved his jaw, trying to lose the tension in it. Then the app finished loading and Alex did a double-take. He held the phone closer to his face, shoved the screen brightness up, pinched-in and zoomed out. He took a screenshot and sent it to the Signal group, hearing Maria's phone play the opening chords to Angel Haze's version of "Same Love."

She pulled it out, glancing over at Alex. Then she was looking at the picture and showing it to Michael.

Alex's text had said: _"Weren't there only 3 pods?"_

They hadn't gotten the elders phones yet; Kyle was picking them up this weekend at a conference in Denver. Isobel and Max were caring for the elders in Alex's cabin. 

> Liz: Mara said the pods were like seeds; it is possible they're also rhizomes?
> 
> Kyle: wat.

He must either be zoning out in a conference session or on a break. 

> Kyle: My biological expertise begins and ends with Homo Sapiens and Antaran Sapiens. So I repeat: wat.
> 
> Liz: Plants can spread in a bunch of different ways. Through seeds or through their roots, sometimes both. Like potatoes. It looks like --

She texted a photo with the six new pods in the picture circled in red.

> Liz: It looks like they're all part of the same root system. But if nothing with Noah's pod has changed, we can leave it until this evening when we talked to Mara after their hike, right?
> 
> Max: We have service on the peak. Mara says: "Liz is correct, they are rhizomes. We will need at least 20 before lift-off, so we're ahead of the curve."

Attached was a photo of Mara standing on top of a butte, arms outstretched, a thousand miles of desert behind her.

Maria and Michael wandered over to him, finding seats on either side.

"Hey guys," Alex said.

Maria said: "You're second on the waiting list." She looked around the clinic. "What do you think?"

He followed her gaze: "It doesn't feel like any hospital I've been to. Base hospitals, there's always this macho thing going on. The main hospital, it's so antiseptic and there's always Kyle or Liz around every corner. But here --"

Maria smiled: "Like someplace for healing?"

"Yeah, like there's people who look like me. Not just me in uniform, but me as I am."

He looked over to a young person with piercing and tattoos, slumping sleepily against another young person in a well-ironed button-up. They were holding hands, the one in the button-up idly running their fingers over the palm of the one with tattoos. Alex sat-up a little straighter.

"it's different than I thought it would be."

Maria rolled her eyes: "Well, most people who've never been inside of a Planned Parenthood clinic don't know what they're like."

She got a sneaky look in her eye. "I know standing for long periods isn't going to be comfortable, but all of those conflict resolution skills that Michael was telling me that you teach -- we can't do self-defense, even if the protesters hit us -- but conflict resolution training, that would be really helpful. You think you could teach the escorts in a class?"

Alex looked up at her: "You think they need it? I figure you get all the practice you could stand out there."

Maria laughed: "You can never have too much practice."

Michael said: "Honestly, after Dr Tiller got shot -- you were in Doha then, right?"

"That was -- 2009?"

"Yeah, the last Sunday in May. After he got shot --"

"After a man shot him in the head. Don't use the passive voice."

"Sorry, Maria -- yes, after a man shot Dr Tiller in the head, at his church in Kansas, a lot more of my friends wanted company coming to the clinic. But you know, Maria told me --"

Maria cut-in: "That weekend, I had an escort shift. I was scared. But you know what?"

Alex was having trouble meeting her eyes, there was so much intensity there. But he made himself do it: "What?"

"That Saturday, not a single volunteer missed her shift. Not one. We wore black ribbons for Dr Tiller and kept walking women into the clinic. The protesters didn't apologize, didn't say shit. But they didn't need to. That they chose to come out, 6 days after the murder, let us know all we needed to about them."

Alex looked around. There was something about this building, about the power and strength it must have taken for the doctors to keep showing-up to work, for the volunteers, for the _patients_ \--

Maria glanced over at Michael: "I can't believe I never saw you coming in back then."

Michael shrugged.

"I guess I only had one shift a month, so we probably just didn't synch up," she paused, then: "No, wait, I think I remember seeing you! You, uh," she paused, "won't there four of you?"

Michael smiled: "Yeah, I remember. She got her three brothers and me to all come and meet her at 7am at the clinic."

"Yeah, you made a phalanx around her and just walked her through." She crossed her legs and grinned. "That's the best way to get through the protesters without being hassled. You can pretend you're on a call, wear headphones, or get 4 massive guys --" she looked over at Michael, "or swagger-y men walk you in. The protesters never know what to say to men. The best they can usually say is --" and she paused, looking around: "You know what, I'm not going to repeat their shitty words in here. But you can ask me about it sometime. I've got some stories."

"Alex Manes?" Called the nurse from her clipboard.

"That's my cue to get back out there," Maria said. Alex stood and after her was stable on his crutch, she threw an arm around him.

"It's gonna go great. And if it doesn't, then we'll make sure you're fine anyway."

Alex smiled and she headed for the door. Then Alex started to move forward and realized Michael was hanging back.

He said softly: "I can go in on my own; you can keep Maria company outside if you need."

Michael bit his lip and shook his head: "You came in with me, I'll go in with you."

Alex stepped back to him, feeling the nurse waiting. "I've been to a lot of doctor's appointments alone."

Michael gritted his teeth.

Alex kept going, heart falling: "It's not a big deal."

"Do you not want me to come in?" Michael asked, voice tense.

Alex tried to find the words: "I would rather have you with me, but not enough to make you miserable."

Michael wrapped his fingers around Alex's and held-up his hand: "I've got Alex Manes!"

The nurse glanced between them, a slight smile flicking across her professional face.

She found and held Alex's eyes: "You're ok being accompanied?"

He nodded: "Yeah, I want my partner with me."

She led them back through a colorful hallway to a quiet room in the back; Alex could feel Michael looking at him the whole way.

She showed them into the room, told them the doctor would be with them in a minute, and then handed Alex a thick, knee-length exam wrap to change into.

As soon as the door shut Michael pressed a kiss behind his ear, pressing his forehead into Alex's hair: "Partner, huh?"

"Is 'lover' better?" Alex said with a smirk, sitting to get his shirt off. "Or 'paramour'? Or 'boyfriend'? Or --"

"Shush, 'partner' is fine." Michael lowered his eyes and then looked-up at Alex under his lashes. "How you doing, 'partner'?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm never going to be able to watch a John Wayne movie again."

Michael made a disgusted cat face. "Ick, no white supremacist John Wayne for me." Then his face transformed into a smirk. "But, if you get a semi watching _Wynonna Earp_ or _Longmire_ \--"

Alex shook his head: "I haven't had a lot of time for watching TV --"

Michael threw his head back in frustration, waving at Alex to finish getting changed. Alex dumped the robe in his lap. He slipped his pants off, shoving his underwear in his pocket and accepting the opened robe.

"So," Michael said, as Alex figured out how to get his arms into the holes, " _Longmire_ is great ship-building background noise. It has an excellent number of Native American actors; it's actually filmed in New Mexico. It's a nice, Sherlockian murder mystery series, and they," he paused as Alex slowly turned, giving him his back so he could tie the back tie. "They never throw anyone away. People go to prison, and the Sheriff visits them. Keeps track of their kids. Keeps involving them in the community. It's," his voice was quiet, "It's nice."

Alex turned around and Michael's face was soft, then a sly grin rose on his mobile face: " _Wynonna Earp_ though, I think you'll like that even better. I think you'll appreciate Doc Holiday as much as I do Doc Holiday and Wynonna."

"Doc Holiday -- is a historical?"  
  
"Nope, modern. It's like _Supernatural_ but with women who aren't murdered. And it handles trauma thoughtfully and well."

"That sounds like something we could watch when things calm down a little."

Michael patted the chair beside him. "Didn't Liz tell me that one time you bawled her out for not being a good friend to Maria? What was it you said?"

"'Sometimes you have to be a person.'"

"Yeah, 'sometimes you have to be a person.' And who knows, maybe Wynonna and Waverly or Henry Standing Bear and Walt Longmire will be a good way to introduce the elders to different parts of American culture."

Alex muttered: "I stand by my choice in the first movie to show them."

Michael threw-up his hands: "I don't disagree -- _Star Trek IV: the Voyage Home_ is a solid first choice for their first-ever movie. But there's more to life than _Star Trek._ "

Alex brightened: "Yep, there's Doctor Who!"

Michael grinned and wrapped his hand around Alex's shoulder. 

"So there's going to be a physical exam --"

"'Turn your head and cough --'"

"Yep. Then they'll go through your history -- do you want me to stay?"

Alex looked at his wrap-covered thighs. "Would you feel weird if I ask you to stay? If it helps, no one else I've ever slept with is still alive."

Michael's face was a mask of horror -- "No it doesn't help, why would --"

The doctor knocked and Alex said, with false brightness: "Come in!"

The door opened and every ounce of Michael's expression said _what the hell, Alex._

But Alex put on a professional smile and looked over at the doctor. She had short, kinky hair, lipstick in Liz's favorite shade, and a warm smile.

"Good morning, my name is Jenny Corbin. I hear you're here with your partner for an STD screening?"

"I am."

She glanced over at Michael. "You're alright with your friend staying with you?"

"I am. Thank you for asking."  
  
Dr Corbin's voice was friendly and professional: "Alright, let's start with the intake. Do you have any concerns you might have an STD?"

"I got cold sores in high school, but I figure since like 50% of American adults do too, that doesn't really count."

She smiled: "You talk like a scientist, is that your profession?"

Alex found himself matching her smile: "I'm a codebreaker for the Air Force, so if computer science counts."

She cocked her head: "Tri-care will cover this on base. I'm not trying to dissuade you but --" then she paused. "Actually, forget I asked. I can guess why not. We get a reasonable number of military personnel in here. Alright, next question -- how many people have you had sex of any kind with?"

"Three."

"And what types?"

"Oral and anal with each."

"No vaginal?"  
  
"Nope," Alex said, popping the 'p' a little obnoxiously.

He saw Dr Corbin covering a smile.

"And when did you use protection?"

"Every time other than the first."

"And that was --"

"10 years ago. With this one," he said, nudging Michael's shoulder.

"High school sweethearts?" Dr Corbin asked.

Alex nodded, seeing Michael follow him in doing a same a half-second later.

"That's adorable." She said with a grin.  "Did you get tested with the other two?"

Alex shook his head.

"Anything in their medical histories to indicate they might have had STDs?" Her voice was even and calm and it still _hurt_.

Alex closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth: "Both were members of my unit, in Iraq. Both in their early 20s. I think I was the first man they'd been with, either of them. Riley and John, neither said anything. But I don't have a way of finding out. They didn't leave the sandbox."

Michael squeezed his fingers and Alex nodded, feeling a pressure behind his eyes.

Dr Corbin waited a moment, though Alex suspected she was pretending to take notes to give him a moment to collect himself.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Are there any other things you do that might increase likelihood of STDs?"

Alex shook his head: "No drugs, since I have my security clearance to keep up on. Nothing else like that."

"Good," she said with a smile.  "So I'm going to take a cheek swab, a blood draw, do a physical exam of your genitals, and then you'll pee in a cup. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a plan."

\--

When Dr Corbin left, Michael quietly handed Alex his clothes, undoing the knots at the back of the gown for him. Alex was feeling overexposed, raw as he slid his jeans back on. He hadn't talked with anyone about Riley and John, had barely talked with them about what they were doing and why and what it meant. It meant comfort and not being alone in a terrifying situation and --

"I won't ask any questions you don't want to answer," Michael said, voice quiet, handing him his shoes. "But I think having someone else to help carry those memories might help. Someone else who knows what they meant to you. People stay with us as long as we remember them. You shouldn't have to be alone."

Alex finished buttoning his shirt, stood, and then slid himself into Michael's lap. Michael's arms came-up around him with a whoosh of breath, holding him steady as he buried his face in Michael's stubble, trying to take in more of his smell with every single breath.

"Hey, hey, I've got you. Hey," Michael said, big hands sweeping across his back. Alex nodded, he _knew that_ , it was just --

"For a long time, you were the only person who loved me."

Michael made a small noise, like he was hurt, but Alex kept going, voice low and hushed under the sound of the air conditioner: "You had Isobel and Max, but for me, you were it. You were the only one in the entire world. Other people cared for me, my unit protected me and I did them; but no one loved _me._ Not Airman Manes. Just _me_. And there are other people I want to remember, but you were --"

He sighed, pressing his eyes closed even tighter: "You were _mine_. And I wasn't anyone's but yours."

"Love, I know," Michael said, "But that doesn't mean you can't remember them too. I won't begrudge you anyone who kept you safe, who tried to help you --"

Alex shook his head. "They weren't like you, Michael. They weren't always good men."

He felt Michael stiffen around him, felt Michael's body react to a threat that was so long past, that Alex didn't know how to count its distance. His voice was a sheer whisper when he said: "Things are different in the sandbox. Complicated. I wasn't -- I wasn't hurt in the way you might be thinking. But I wasn't loved either." He let out a harsh laugh. "We used each other. It was transactional, I guess."

Michael's breathing was still harsh, but he kept his hands so, so soft.

"In my, history, the one with Liz. It's -- it's not just that there's a lot of folks on it, though that's true. There's --"

And Alex pressed his mouth to Michael's, noses sliding past each other, foreheads touching.

"You don't have to trade me trauma for trauma. I'll listen to any story you need to tell me, but when you want to. Not because you feel like you need to even the score."

Michael took a deep breath, a feeling like relief moving across his face.

"Good call." He let a bit of a smile flicker to life. "We're getting really good at Rule 5."

"And living with three octogenarian relatives certainly means we're acing Rule 2 every day."

"And Rule 3 has kind of faded back."

Alex smiled: "It turns out we have reservoirs of self-control that neither of us imagined we had before."

Michael grinned, pressing a warm kiss to his mouth: "It's not for lack of wanting."

Alex closed his eyes, a shiver working it way through his body. "No, not for lack of wanting."

\--

Michael and Alex's test results came back the same day. Michael had a clean bill of health; Alex still had the herpes simplex 1 he'd always had, but other than that, they were good to go.

They cooked steaks to celebrate and refused to tell Mara, Vila, or Jamarsh what, exactly, they were celebrating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two songs mentioned here, but one is fairly obscure, so here they are:  
> \- Angel Haze - "Same Love (Remake)"  
> \- Robbie Fulks - "America Is A Hard Religion"
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented! Your comments mean so much to me.


	26. Two Weeks, Five Days, 6 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week I'm on a road trip (well, since Wednesday, thus no updates). I've driven from Silicon Valley to Joshua Tree to Phoenix to Santa Fe, now to Lake Powell, tomorrow to Bryce and Zion, then Yellowstone, then Craters of the Moon. So updates will either come slow (when I'm driving) or fast (when I'm passenger). BUT! For all of the other Roswel-fans -- Roswellians? RNMers? Malex shippers? -- I took about 1000 photos of the Southwest, mostly skies and sunsets and sunrises, but some other stuff too. Once the trip is done, I'll post it on a dropbox if folks want it for research for their fics or for edits.
> 
> This place is amazing, btw. Santa Fe is something special.

It was the Wednesday night after Alex and Michael had gone to Planned Parenthood and Alex was feeling stuffed after a rich group dinner.  Alex looked out across the two tables, filled with all of his friends and found family, serving each other desert and planning in low voices. Mara and Jamarsh had come to the self-defense class with him the Sunday after his clinic appointment, observing, practicing wrist-breaks, eyes wide and marveling at the rollicking, noisy children. Jesus had been full of excitement -- he was moving out in two weeks, his brother being done with school. Alex worried that it wouldn't be as simple as backing-up a U-Haul, but he wasn't going to borrow trouble on Jesus's behalf.

Alex smiled as he accepted the rocky road ice cream Michael had nearly gilded with honey. It had taken a couple of awkward dinners for them to figure out how all 13 of them could sit together at Alex and Michael's place. Having two tables was the easy part. But were the elders seated at one end, struggling silently with their food while everyone else tried to carry on their dinner? Finally, Alex and Isobel had figured out that intergenerational interleaving was the order of the day, elders and youngers alternating.

This meant if someone was struggling with a utensil, if someone was in distress, they had someone next to them who could help. It also meant everyone got a chance to practice communicating with the elders, each of whom had their own levels and styles of conversation.

Back in the second week, Mara had requested that they set-up a weekly schedule of check-ins about how they were going to free the remaining Antarans. At the first meeting, they went over all of the issues and the options. At this point, they had a plan.

Over dessert -- ice cream with honey over it and salted pistachio brownies -- Mara summarized the discussion for the group from her seat at the head of the table nearest the kitchen, the other table turning in their chairs to listen. Throughout the dinner she'd moved between them, gathering and spreading ideas, building consensus. Isobel had watched with something like awe:

"There are three issues. Of the six Antarans remaining, one has a power that is currently uncontrollable and completely deadly. Three are so deeply traumatized they require 24/7 care, including intravenous food and bed pans. And two were saboteurs, planted by the regime. The ones who forced the crash. Most of us did not want to live with the two women who had allied themselves with the military who took over Antar, forced a civil war, and actively sabotaged not just our ship, but hundreds of other refugee ships."

Alex had realized during the discussion that, in prison, some of the elders had grown and changed and some of them had had their opinions calcify. But all of them wanted there to be some kind of justice for what the two women had done to sabotage their ship.  Everyone agreed was that it was unacceptable to leave them at Caulfield. What no one had agreed on to start, was what they should do instead. They didn't raise their voices, but the disagreements were clear, long-held, and viciously kept. 

When it came to the saboteurs, none of them were lawyers, none of them judges, and Antar had a restorative approach to justice in a way that Alex was still getting his head around. The Antarans didn't say as much, but he had gotten the distinct impression the elders were horrified by how he and the others had dealt with Jesse Manes. They were certain there had to have been some way to handle him that didn't involve removing his autonomy in the way they had.

Alex would have welcomed any of them to say it to his face, but they hadn't done so yet. It seemed Michael's pugilistic streak was not a cultural trait. It was all him.

It was clear in this dinner as in every other one how much healing each elder needed to do. A pattern developed and Alex wasn't sure if it was dementia or trauma, but every time anyone mentioned the saboteurs, everything would stop for 15 minutes and every single elder went in a circle and shared a new and horrifying story about what the military had done during the war that had driven them from their homes.

One the one hand, Alex was profoundly honored they were willing to share their stories and their histories. On the other hand, it would have been occasionally nice to get through an entire planning dinner without having to stop everything to discuss war horrors. But that's what they did.

But tonight, it seemed they had come to an agreement.

Mara spread her hands wide: "The question of those of our family with uncontrolled and violent powers or incredibly difficult physical and emotional needs, comes down to one of healing. If they are given a chance to heal, they might become more self-aware, more self-reliant." Her voice was distanced, cold. "Institutionalization is often such a significant trauma, it encourages dependence."

During the dinner, when Isobel had brought-up her plan of selling her house, of them building a house for all of the elders, Mara had stood, walking around the long table, and wrapped her arms around her, and hugged her tightly. Isobel had sat stiff, arms on the table, but slowly, slow as breathing, she'd turned in her chair, burying her face in Mara's shoulder, and gripping her too, too tightly. Mara bore it.

Now, ice cream melting into the pistachio-covered brownies on their plates, Mara looked out at the table, eyes resting for a long moment on Michael and Alex.

"The question of where we shall live is in your hands more than ours. I want to thank Isobel for her intended kindness, her sacrifice. The sacrifice of the house and of the land here. But I believe, based on Michael's good work on the ship, we have the option of returning home, of returning our most damaged family members to a place with healing that they cannot receive here. And I have hope in my heart that in the 70 years we have been here, the war has ended on Antar."

She took a breath, looking at Alex and Michael: "And now I know more of what that land -- that shed -- means to you both, if we could have another option, I would prefer it. I want to protect the place that was my son's first home."

"What do you mean?" Isobel asked, glancing at Michael.

Mara gave her a secret smile: "That's for Alex and Michael to tell, or not; it's their story and not mine."

Alex cringed inside, certain that he was going to be teased mercilessly about this. He could see the same thoughts running across Michael's face and reached over to clasp his hand. This only increased the number of people craning their necks to stare at them.

But Mara continued: "We have some solutions, that we agreed to last week. The seeds that grew from your first pods will be able to contain and protect a person in about a week. They grow quickly with good water, and with the feed I have designed for them and that Liz has been helping me administer."

Liz grinned and Alex felt his heart expand with gratitude for his found family.

Alex looked around the group: "Alex, you, Kyle, and Maria discussed the plan with each of the remaining elders and they consented to be placed in the pods?"

"Yes."

Alex had told Michael when he'd come home that night that it had felt like a deeply cruel thing to ask. Trading one prison for another. But Isobel had said at the last dinner that her time in the pod had felt like a blink, not an eternity. Alex could understand the offer then: go to sleep and wake-up at home, where you can heal and be safe.

Mara looked at Alex: "In these past meetings, we have discussed plans and plans and contingency plans for other plans to ensure they would have continuing access after Alex's term of service is up, but the reality is this: with revoked base access and IDs expiring and an unclear chain of command, we need to just do it. The seeds will be ready in a week."

 

Kyle spoke-up: "Alex, Maria, and I have been laying the groundwork for weeks. We haven't seen any real pushback, except from the scientists. They keep coming to me, asking about their experiments, saying something about needing to keep all of," and he stumbled, looking at the elders on either side of him, "everyone who is in Caulfield and not in the same kind of environment. I've been blowing them off but --"

"I'll get into it," Alex said, making a note on his phone to tell Flint to get the scientists to back off. Kyle didn't need the overhead of fabricating test results when he had his hands full caring for the elders living with him.

"Thank you," Mara said. Then she looked down at her plate, closer to ice cream soup then it had been before the discussion, and smiled: "We should dig in before we get to bed."

\--

It was hours after dinner the following Friday night, when the elders were reading or sleeping in their rooms, when Alex looked-up from his laptop to see Michael doing dishes. Vila had insisted on cooking and they'd all made their way through her approach to baked lasagna and salad with their tastebuds mostly in-tact -- though Alex was considering having a serious conversation with Liz about Sriracha and proportionality -- and then Jamarsh and Mara had gone to the hot spring with Michael, while Vila practiced on the oboe Isobel had found her at an estate sale. Her music was much better than her cooking, cold and haunted and lilting in a way Alex imagined the Antaran language sounded when sung.

They rarely spoke it in front of him, choosing to practice their English on him, but the snatches and snippets he overheard before they switched tongues entranced him. She had stopped a few minutes ago, the last light visible from the hallway flicking off as a warm quiet filled the house.

In the kitchen, Michael was scrubbing the hell out of the baking dish -- Vila had really done a number on it -- and it was like a switch flipped in him, zero to one, and everything was different. He could see the way the strong lines of Michael's back moved under his thin white undershirt, clinging where he was sweating in the late evening heatwave, muscles tense and flowing and _his._ His curls were clean and flared around his head like a halo, the table lamp catching and highlighting every perfect arc of them. His arms rippled with the work. He was singing under his breath and that was it.

Alex found himself standing, his body moving steadily around the table, foot and prosthetic soft on the carpet and blood hot in his veins. Michael was humming something to himself, down in his bass register, and Alex thought he was going to _die_ if he didn't touch Michael _right now_.

He braced his hands on either side of his hips, fingers curling into the bubbly water of the sink and pressed a kiss to the nape of Michael's neck. He felt Michael sigh, easing back against him, hips flush and then stuttering a little.

"Happy to see me?" He murmured, turning in Alex's arms -- and Alex pressed himself flush against him, leg between his thighs, hands gripping the counter as he kissed Michael like he was trying to climb inside of him. Michael caught his balance, hands going under Alex's shoulders, deepening the kiss with an appreciative sound. Alex shoved closer, feeling Michael hot and warm around him, his hands in Alex's hair, down his spine, hips moving against his.

Alex slid his hands down to Michael's ass, braced himself, and hiked him the bare inch up so he was sitting on the counter. Michael's legs immediately locked around Alex's waist as he steadied him, soap and suds getting everywhere and Alex couldn't care even a tiny bit, Michael using the higher ground to explore Alex's mouth in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling, like he was something precious, something _his._ Michael's hands fluttered over his face, his neck, down his shoulders and up his arms, touching everything he could, sliding over skin, rutching-up fabric, and making Alex feel like he was in the safest tornado imaginable.

Into the roaring noise of his blood, he gasped into Michael's mouth: "Ten weeks is enough, right? Ten weeks proves anything we needed to prove. They're not going to dishonorably discharge me with two weeks left. No one cares. Ten weeks is _enough_ ,"

Michael nodded frantically, hands going under Alex's and skimming across the broad planes of his back, and Alex felt like he was stifling in his shirt, and he began to unbutton it, fingers frantic, needing _skin_ \-- and then Michael processed what Alex had said and wrapped his hands around his, holding them against Alex's wildly beating heart.

"It is enough and it's only between us," he said, voice thin like he was still trying to catch his breath, "But what if the next promise we make is harder? What if we have to sacrifice something, have to trust the other person, have to trust ourselves?"

He leaned down, his forehead just rested, caress-light on Alex's, breath hot between them. "It's just for us, we're not proving anything to anyone. But maybe we need to prove it to ourselves. Prove ourselves we're trustworthy, with something like this, with each other."

Alex _whined_ , his hands aching for Michael's skin, but the quiet they'd built-up between them, the softness and curiosity and tenderness, it came back to him, baring him, letting him open his eyes and take-in Michael's kiss-swollen mouth, his wild hair, and the loving kindness in his eyes.

" _Fuck._ " Alex said, releasing his grip on Michael's hips and scrubbing a hand over his face. _"Fuck_ ," he said again, easing back so Michael could hop off the counter. Michael kissed his forehead and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"It feels like maybe we should try seperate beds tonight," Michael said and Alex nodded, grudgingly. It had been sweet torture in their bed, sleeping beside Michael and only having the chance to get-off during his turns in the bath. It had been building for weeks, this _need_ , but he'd thought he'd had it under control.

"You're right," he said, and then Michael's arms were around him, body held carefully apart but cheek against his.

"We could go over the plan again?"

Alex huffed: "I will actually have a heart attack if we do that, love. An actual, take-me-to-the-hospital or better yet, take-me-to-Max-and-explain-how-two-lengths-of-rope-and-a-wrought-iron-headboard-drove-me-to-an-early-grave."

Michael chuckled. "Fair." He glanced back at the sudsy water, with a distinctly backside-shared dent in the bubbles.

"I vote we throw away that dish and get a new one at Goodwill. I don't think that marinara sauce is ever getting out."

Alex nodded. "Maybe we should pick-up some cookbooks there for her too."

He looked over at the couch.

"Want to sit a little before you go? We could watch something?"

Michael smiled: "I could show you where we're at with the ship's reconstruction?" 

He held-up his phone.

Alex smiled: "I've missed seeing it grow."

Alex hadn't been down into Michael's bunker since they're gotten the elders out. They were all spread thin enough caring for a half-dozen traumatized elders, and nighttime when Michael could get his best work done, was the toughest time for all of them. He'd taken extra night shifts with them to protect Michael's time in the bunker, but that meant he hadn't gotten to see it.

Michael settled in beside him on the couch and showed him a picture on his phone. Alex whistled. It was starting to get big enough it was going to be tough to get it back out of there. He expected Michael planned to levitate the ceiling of the bunker clean-off when it came to that, but between Mara's advice on how to help it heal and repair itself, the instructions on the hot spring's cave wall, and Isobel's skill at finding and buying pieces that had made their way into collectors' home museums, the console looked nearly finished.

"Wow, love, that looks incredible."

"Yeah," Michael said, tipping his head back on the back of the couch. "We still need to figure out a way to get that reactor out of Caulfield."

Alex hummed, tracing his fingertips across Michael's arm as it sat beside him. "Why don't we have everyone over tomorrow night, see what we can plan out?"

Michael tilted his head, eyes quizzical: "I think everyone's pretty busy."

Alex smiled, shaking his head: "This is important to all of the elders, and I think the idea of going to the stars is growing on the rest of them. Let's give them all a chance to help."

Michael swiped over to the Signal app, and sent to the group:

> Michael: Dinner at our place tomorrow? We have a logistical issue we need to work through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are wonderful! Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving comments!


	27. One Week, Seven Days, 9 Hours

Alex wondered if you could summarize the changes in his life in the last 11 weeks by how he was using his phone. When he'd come to Michael's trailer that midnight, he'd had one thread open with Maria, planning a weekend with her Mom. That was in the clear, no encryption app necessary. He'd had a thread open with Kyle, coordinating when they would each use the Project Shepherd bunker using Signal.

That week, he'd had a couple of texts from his bank, a spam text, and an IFTTT reminder to pay his credit card he'd set-up and never remembered to turn off, even after the card had long-since expired.

That was it.  


He'd never tried to text Michael. 

He could have; he'd kept his phone number between a half-dozen phone transitions. 

But he never had.  


The Monday before they were to free the final Antarans, he hadn't gotten an in-the-clear text from anyone but his bank in weeks. When he opened-up Signal, there were over a dozen threads. One with each of the members of their group, including the elders, who had basic Android phones now thanks to Kyle; a thread that was just the non-elders; the "Femme Skills are Real Skills" thread he'd made in Albuquerque with him, Michael, Liz, and Isobel. Another thread titled: "Jailbreakers," that was just him, Maria, and Kyle. There was one thread titled: "Gardening" which if anyone had asked him 11 weeks ago if he'd ever be part of a passionate debate over whether chuparosa or candelilla would be better at his personal hot spring, he would have laughed them out of the room; but Mara had started the discussion, egged it on, and was clearly enjoying the banter, so here they were. And, always at the top, always the most frequent, his chat with Michael. Just, day-to-day texts: pictures, questions, memes, ideas. There was a spaceship engineering thread, the most recent text from Mara:

> Mara: For the question of the reactor at Caulfield. If we can avoid it, we don't want to move it more than once. Every time you transplant a plant, it's like surgery. The engine is tech, not organic, but all of our tech is built along the same lines as biological organisms. Once we have everybody out and the staff have be reassigned, could we just -- take Caulfield? Just, move everybody out of it, and build the ship there? There might be more of our things there, I don't know what they kept in storage.

He replied: 

> Alex: I'll get into it before we do the extraction on Wednesday.

But it meant he had to keep his phone at his desk, or he would be moon-facing at it during meetings.

That's why when Liz's texted him in the middle of an afternoon meeting, he didn't see it for 45 minutes.

> Liz: There's an issue with Jesus. Call me when you get this.

Alex felt his heart drop, chest clenching.

He called: "Hey, what --"

He could hear a hospital announcement in the background; Liz was still at work. "My Dad called to tell me Jesus didn't come to work today, and he was supposed to move out of his Dad's place tonight, and when my Dad called him he said something was going on with his Dad and his brother and I just -- I don't know where he lives or I would go check on him."

"Yeah," Alex said, "I'll get into it."

"Thanks -- it's no big deal him missing work today, he's a good kid, if he needs to take another one, just ask him to give my Dad a heads-up."

Alex called Ms Kishore, the teacher who arranged for the students to attend his self-defense class on Sundays. Alex had managed not to miss a single class, in spite of all of the major changes in his life. Just like he was making room for Michael's work on the ship, Michael had been doing the same for him, preserving his self-defense class time.

He called her and she picked-up on the second ring: "Do you have Jesus's address?"

"I do," she said. "Why?"

"He didn't come into work today and I think today was the day he was moving out, and there might have been a blow-up with his Dad, and --"

"I'm on the rez today, I'll go check it out."

"If it's ok, I'd like to come with you. I haven't been on the rez in --"

He paused, trying to do the math. She cut-in:

"Your mother was from here, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she gave full custody to your Dad, who's not enrolled?"

"Not only not enrolled -- he's white."

"Ah," she said, "If you don't know your way around the rez, I don't know if you're the right one --"

"Look," Alex said, letting himself be blunt, keeping his voice low, "What I know of Jesus's Dad from class -- I respect you until the seas run dry, but he won't necessarily act the same around a woman as he would a man. It might save trouble if I come as your back-up."

She laughed: "You're right. It's fucking stupid, but you're right. You can meet me at the border. You start driving, I'll go check on him. If it's nothing, I'll be able to tell you to turn around in about 45 minutes."

" _Thank you_."

Alex checked his calendar and -- _shit_. He was supposed to have a one-on-one with Lt Freeman in about an hour.

He messaged him: 

> Captain Manes: Can we make our meeting a phone call?
> 
> Lt Freeman: Oh, thank God, I have a family dinner tonight and I would love not to be late for the first time in weeks.

Alex pulled-up the cellphone coverage map, checking to make sure it went that far; it did. 

> Captain Manes: I'll have coverage the whole way in my truck. Talk to you then.
> 
> Lt Freeman: Hey, Captain Manes,
> 
> Captain Manes: Yeah?
> 
> Lt Freeman: It's your second-to-last week, right?
> 
> Captain Manes: It is.
> 
> Lt Freeman: Congratulations. 10 years is a long time. Anyway, talk in 57 minutes.

Alex took a breath, considering; then he texted Michael. 

 

> Alex: Any chance you can take the afternoon? There's something going on with Jesus on the reservation. If you could meet me at the rez border?
> 
> Michael: i'm there. 
> 
> Michael: as long as I can bring Mara and Vila, they're with me today
> 
> Alex: Yeah. That should be fine. Thank you, love.

The drive west was long, hot, and full of softly rolling mesas, the scrub-stubbled fire-touched rock as elegantly endless as Alex had always remembered it. The drive felt shorter, but then, he'd lived through all-night convoys and weekly trips to Caulfield; a 90 minute drive wasn't much of a struggle now.

He had his scheduled call, offloading one more part of a project. It was bittersweet, giving-up work he'd built from scratch, but what he'd told Michael in the trailer that night eleven weeks ago was true: the Air Force would go on without him just fine. And he was, more and more every day, convinced he could do the same.

The rock-strewn arroyos on the side of the road filled Alex's heart with, something. He rolled down the windows and turned on Maria's mix. Maria had been be horrified when she'd realized the elders hadn't heard any song produced before 1990 and had immediately commandeered Alex's phone, since he was most often the car DJ and the burners that Kyle had bought for the elders didn't play music. She'd added a slim-but-powerful list of Smokey Robinson, Ella Fitzgerald, Leadbelly, Jonathan Coltrane, Lena Horne, Billy Holiday:

> _I want to leave you, don't want to stay here_  
>  _Don't want to spend another day here_  
>  _Oh, oh, oh, I want to split now, I can't quit now_  
>  _You really got a hold on me,  
> _ _you really got a hold on me,  
> _ _you really got a hold,_

There was no passport control, no clear border check, just a green highway sign: You Are Now Entering the Mescalero Apache Reservation. Beside the green highway sign was a sign pointing to the Mescalero Library. Alex had remembered it being warped, faded; but now it was a crisp, clean black on white.

Ms Kishore's car was pulled over behind the sign and she hopped out, pulled her hair back, and put herself in his passenger seat. He kept the AC on and got the update, looking in the rearview to see if he saw Michael coming down the road.

"No news?"

"I went back, knocked on the door, and nobody answered. There's a moving truck and a horse trailer in the driveway, half-packed, door open; no horse."

"Did you try calling him?"

"He didn't pick-up." She paused. "He might pick-up for you. I've been hassling him about finishing his GED. The job he has at Crashdown is perfect, exactly what he needs, but a GED will just give him different options when he grows out of it. He's been picking-up extra shifts instead; I think he's been wanting to move out faster." She sighed. "I never know how much to push this kind of thing."

Alex smiled: "I don't think there's a right way to do it. But he might answer my call. I'll call once we're out front. I asked some friends to join us."

"Why?"  


"Strategic ignorance -- I'm going to say I came with friends to help him move out. He wants to leave today and whatever we need to say in the next few hours to help him get to that goal, that's what he needs from us."

Ms Kishore nodded and Alex saw Michael's  truck on the horizon, Vila and Mara in the front bench seat.

Ms Kishore turned around, eyes widening: "Is that your person?" she asked. "Mike?"

Alex corrected: "Michael. Yeah."

"He's the one who came to the class, before Sheriff Valenti and Deputy Evans came?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"He seemed like a good guy."

"He is."

"Are those the little old ladies who came to the class a few weeks ago?"  


"The elders, yep. They're Michael's Mom and his aunt; they're staying with us. They got kicked-out of their old-folks home for fighting."

Her tone was concerned: "You know this situation could get, volatile?"

"They're going to be staying in the truck with the AC on."

She looked dubious but let it go: "So, why strategic ignorance?"  


Alex thought for a moment: "Abusers thrive on making everyone around them pretend their behavior is normal. So one of the ways around them is to do what you need to and force _them_ to act normal, since they won't be able to stop you unless they drop the mask."

He kept going: "So we're going to, totally normally, show-up to help my student move since we heard it's moving day. If I had to guess -- and my guess is pretty educated on this one -- what I think happened is: Jesus's Dad knew he was planning on heading-out. Jesus did everything he could to prep him. His Dad kept his emotions together during that and then decided to explode at the last possible moment. Maybe t ensions have been high and Jesus has just spent the past few hours trying to talk him down. That's my guess. I could be totally wrong about the dynamics," he paused, "But I don't think I am."

Michael pulled into park and propelled himself out, wrapping his arms around his waist and taking a deep breath. Michael's arms were slower to close around him, but when he got a grip, he held it tight.

"You ok, love?" He asked, and there was so much that wasn't ok, wasn't going to be good for Alex about the next few hours. But it was something he wanted to, needed to, do.

"No time machines, right?" He said, and Michael nodded.

He waved to Mara and Vila, sitting comfortably out of the 100+ degree heat, and then gave Michael the address.

As they drove through the reservation, it was a reminder of how normal everything was. Houses, some in good repair, some not; parks, schools, government buildings, chain businesses, regular businesses. Some parts were poorer than what he usually saw in Roswell, but not so different from non-tribal, rural areas.

Ms Kishore told him he had another 15 minutes on this route before turning just off the road. He found himself rehearsing how to ask something he'd been wondering for months now, and decided to just force himself to say it:

"I'm not looking to get enrolled, I don't know if I qualify. And I know you're not a member, but if I wanted," he paused, "There are parts of my heritage that I didn't have a lot of access to in the military, that my father kept me from --"

"He made it The Jesse Manes Show with no room for anyone else?"

"Yeah," he said. "How did you know?"

"I came across him on base a few times. He's a fucking piece of work."

Alex nodded, getting back on track: "If I wanted to -- my tour is ending in two weeks. Is there some kind of reintroduction process, if I wanted to get involved? I don't know what I need, what others might need from me, but -- "

She smiled: "I'll introduce you to my friend on the tribal council. She'll probably want to have coffee with you, probably grill you on everything you've never wanted to talk about, but maybe she can help you get a better sense of what you're wanting."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." He paused, then figured -- might as well ask. "This might be a weird question, but is there a book store here? There were all of these stories that my Mom told me, and I can only remember bits and pieces of them, but I've been thinking about them a lot lately and wanted the reminder."

She nodded, slowly, looking out over the hills: "You know the word 'evangelical', right?"

Alex nodded, confused at the turn in the conversation.

"So, my family's not evangelical. We're Hindu. It's not a conversion-based religion. But Christians are. They go out and convert people. You saw the St Joseph's Mission on the rez; the Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synode and the Latter-Day Saints all send people too. Christianity's an evangelical culture, always trying to get people to join the culture. But there's other religions, like Judaism and Hinduism, that aren't like that. You can join, sometimes you can fight your way in. In those kinds of cultures, there are things specific to the culture that are not designed to be explained. American culture is very based on evangelical culture, in the way that Americans are always trying to get people to participate in their culture. But there are other cultures like a lot of Native American cultures that aren't like that, that aren't evangelical in nature. So there's no going to be a 'How to be an Indian' pamphlet."

He said: "I've never thought of it that way."

"But if that's not what you're going for -- if you want to read books by native authors, about folk tales but also modern life, then yeah, sure, there's a great bookstore at the resort slash casino." She looked down at her phone, tapping. "I just texted you the address. Turn left here."

They drove in silence through the streets. There were big ranch houses and small ranch houses and no small number of them had small stables out back. With this much land, keeping a horse could be as normal as a second car; there was certainly enough scrub around to allow for easy grazing.

Alex found himself asking something he'd wondered: "How'd you end-up teaching on the rez?" he asked.

She huffed a laugh: "Thanks for asking it that way. Usually people say something like: 'did you hear it was Indian Country and get confused?'"  
  
Alex shook his head with a smile: "You know us millennials; we think a galaxy brain photoshop of a duck wearing pants is hilarious, but race humor entirely passes us by."

She nodded, a soft expression on her face:  "After I got out, after I finished PT for my knee, I wanted to find someplace to do the most good. I grew-up in a countryside like New Mexico, big skies, open vistas. I'd missed it, after 4 years of serving state-side on the East Coast. I missed the way my heart flies out through my fingertips when I see an impossible horizon. And I'd been a teacher's aid before I joined, and the tribal council offered to help pay for me to get my masters while I was teaching so," she shrugged.

"So many of the schools here, it's just worksheets all day for all the first graders and up; lots of shouting at students -- _hands behind you back in the halls, eyes on the floor_ \-- and I just," she traced her hand over the dashboard, "I guess I want to be a part of fixing it. And people here need me in a way I haven't been needed before."  
  
She huffed a laugh: "So I guess it's just self-serving in the end. Turn right here."

They drove down a gently-landscaped street before pulling-up to a house with a white picket fence, a moving truck and a horse trailer in the front driveway, and a crying teenager on the porch.

Alex stepped out of the truck, feeling Ms Kishore and Michael flanking him. The young man on the porch looked like Jesus if he was about a third smaller in every dimension, but had the same round cheeks and kind eyes.

"Hey," Alex said, and there it was, the hard shell coming over the young man's features, smearing his tears across his face, standing. _Fight-flight-freeze-fawn -- looks like he's in fight._

The teenager stood up, fists bunching: "Who are you?"

Alex held-up his hands, staying well back from the porch. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could feel someone watching through the curtains over the living room window.

"I'm Captain Alex Manes." He realized he was still wearing his uniform since he hadn't changed before leaving work, and wondered if it would help or hurt this conversation. "I'm Jesus's self-defense teacher. I heard that he was moving you two out today and wanted to come by with my friends," he gestured behind him, "to help you two move."

"We're not moving today," the young man said, and there was a kind of raw resentment in his voice that Alex recognized as clearly as his own palms. 

"Oh," Alex said, looking over at the moving truck, "It looks like you're nearly done."

The young man crossed his arms, dark eyes snapping, silent.

Alex took a breath. "Jesus has been doing a really good job with his work and always talks about you in class. He's really proud you graduated with straight As."

There was -- a flash of pride, a softening. But then he seemed to remember he was trying to get Alex to go away, _Probably to protect us from his Dad,_ Alex thought, heart clenching.

"It doesn't matter anyway."

Ms Kishore's voice was soft, even: "Can we see Jesus to tell him we'll come back when he's ready?"

The teen began to shake his head, then he looked-up, seeing something behind him.

"Who are those elders?" he asked. Alex glanced behind him and saw Mara and Vila making their way up the walk, admiring the perfectly-pruned cactus garden along the path.

Mara's smile was bright, wider than Alex had ever seen it, and totally false. Alex didn't think anyone who hadn't been living with her for weeks would know it, though.

"What a beautiful garden!" She exclaimed. "I'm Michael's Mom and I've been trying to plan my garden out at his home. Did you design this?"

His face was shut-ff.

"No, my Dad did."

"Ah," Mara said, smile still wide as she joined Alex in front of the group, "Do you think he could tell me the name of this plant?" She said, pointing to something that looked to Alex for all the word like an overgrown Ionian column.

The teen paused. Alex could see him making the calculation. It was distraction for his Dad, a tiny, tiny request, and maybe one he could use the answering of to break-up whatever was going on behind that door.

"Ok," he said, and then called through the door, "Sir, there's an elder here who has a question for you about the garden."

Alex waited for a moment, watching the nervous shift in the young man's face. Then the sound of heavy feet.

The man who opened the door had a strict military bearing, a military hair cut, and a distinctly non-military gut.

"What is it?" He asked, voice low and hard as he looked at Mara. Then he caught sight of Alex and his eyes widened, and he took a small step back.

"Captain," he squinted, "Manes. I'm sorry to keep you standing there. I wasn't expecting to see the uniform today."

And Alex -- shifted. He stepped past Mara, hand out to grip the other man's tightly and therefore get a look into the dark room behind him. He saw Jesus, sitting, shoulders slumped, on a broken-spined couch, eyes dull as he watched him through the door.

"Good afternoon, Ms Kishore and I heard it was moving day and came by to see if we could repay Jesus for some of his kindness in our class."

Ms Kishore stepped closer, voice going low. "I've been really impressed with Jesus. He's been coming to the base every Sunday, helping teach the other kids."

The father's face twisted, but Alex's uniform was still hanging heavy in his estimation of him. _Good_. He thought.

Alex added: "And I've been really proud of him, becoming independent, working his way up. He's an impressive young man,"

Alex could see Jesus wasn't hearing this part, but every step his father took away from the door, the straighter he sat-up. 

"He's been neglecting his responsibilities, with that job of his. He hasn't been caring properly for Astra. Until he can prove to me --"

"Astra?" Alex asked.

The man gestured vaguely behind the house. "She's his. A present from his mother -- she's over in Santa Fe now. She found her at an auction a few years ago, and Jesus," he said it grudgingly, "He had been doing an acceptable job with her," he turned voice rising as Jesus tried to sink into himself, and Alex started to hear roaring in his ears, "But all of this working in town shit, it's been wearing on her -- I had to _brush_ her --"

"Jesus, do you remember me?" Came a soft voice from behind him. Alex turned to stare at Mara, but she was looking at Jesus and only Jesus.

"Hi Ms Guerin, I remember. From class," Jesus said, his voice polite and clear. His father turned to glare at him, but Mara interrupted.

"Is Astra a plant?"

His father huffed: "It's a horse,"

"'She'," Jesus said, just loud enough his father glared at him again, but he had a stubborn look in his eyes. 

His father's voice was venomous when he said: " _It_  is hole in the air  _I_ pour money into."  He turned to Jesus, voice rising: "And if _you_ 're not going to care for it --"

Mara stepped shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex, bearing a bright, false smile: "I've known plants like that. But I have lived for many years in a place with no horses. I would love to see her. Would it be alright if Jesus showed her to me?"

And Alex could have sworn that she didn't use any parts of her powers, but maybe it was perceived white privilege, maybe it was respect for elders, but Jesus's Dad flicked his eyes between her and Alex, gesturing back to Jesus and then back to her again.

"If you want to, ma'am. I can catchup with the Captain, then."

"Thank you," she said, stepping over the threshold and into the house. 

Jesus rose with eyes wide and then guided her back through the kitchen to the back forty, walking slowly so she could keep up with his longer pace.

His father waved Alex in, waving him to the place where Jesus had sat and getting him a beer from the minifridge in the living room.

"When did you serve?" Alex asked, settling back on the broken couch, arm over the back, body open, feet pointing towards the older man.  _Perfect brothers-in-arms._

"Afghanistan, 2003-5." He said, glancing at the shadowbox on the wall with his commendations. Alex didn't look too long, but it looked like he'd framed the ones nearly everyone who served in a combat zone had. His were in a manilla envelope in the bottom of his dufflebag that he'd never unpacked.

Alex whistled, making his face look approving. "Tough work."  


The man shrugged, clearly pleased.

"Bagdad, 2009-10, then Doha 2010-2014, then Bagdad again 2014-2018."

The man's eyes widened and Alex leaned down, knocking on his prosthetic. "I'd be back there, but no dice."

There was a look of admiration on the man's face and Alex hated this, so, so very much. But Jesus's little brother was still on the porch, holding his arms tight around his belly as Michael crouched next to him and Vila settled on the steps.

"I meant what I said earlier," he said with a smile, "Jesus has impressed a lot of us."

The man huffed: "He's working at a  _diner_. He has to wear  _little antennae._ He wanted me to come and see him at work, but,  _no thank you._ I can't stop him from playing  _waitress_ but I don't have to see it."

Alex nodded, forcing his smile to stay on his face. "I hear you. He wasn't able to arrange a stable for Astra?"

Something passed over the man's face and Alex knew,  _knew_ that he'd promised Jesus the horse could stay there. Then he'd changed his mind, or pretended to. He could see the terror this kind of man might feel if he didn't have his sons to force to keep him company; he certainly couldn't have many friends or the ability to make them, with his personality.

"It was his responsibility, and a man needs to fulfill his duty," he said.

Alex took a long pull from his beer and nodded. "Horses are expensive, right? I don't know much about them. I've thought about learning to ride -- my friend out there, Michael," and Michael raised his hand, "He was a cowboy on the Foster Ranch for about 10 years and he's been meaning to teach me, but he's never had his own animal."

"They're  _very_ expensive," the man said, glancing at Alex's captain's insignia, his late-model car, his upgraded prosthetic. The half-drunk beer in his hand.

Alex met Michael's eyes, and he gave him a small nod.  _Who needs telepathy when you know each other this well_.

"I'm retiring in a few weeks and know there's ranches off the rez could buy them from, but my Mom was from here --"

The man's eyes narrowed: "What was her name?"

"Tammy Bruselas," he answered, and the man held back a scoff.

"I remember her. Moved off to marry that -- Jesse Manes was your father?"

Alex felt his back stiffen but knew the man wouldn't notice. "He was."

"A good man." He said. 

Alex nodded, jaw tight.

The man looked at him, something sly moving across his face. "What were you hoping to use a horse for?"

Alex shrugged, trying to look like a dilettante. "No hard work, just learning to ride. I've got a good 40 acres, a stable, a trough, the fencing and such."  _Or, I will by tomorrow, Michael and Mara willing,_  "We were going to go up this weekend to one of the ranches --"

"How much were you budgeting?"

Alex apologized to every person who had ever taught how to negotiate: "I have about $10,000."

There was a flash of pure greed in the man's eyes but he lowered them and shook his head sadly. "You won't get much of a beast for that. If I was looking to sell, I couldn't let Astra go for less than $15,000."

Alex tried to look shame-faced: "Oh, is that closer to a fair price?"

The man nodded: "It is. Very fair. I'd include the trailer too, since I'd have no need of it without that beast to feed and move to pasture."

"Hmm," Alex said, catching Michael's eyes. Michael nodded.

"I could probably get $11,000 together," he said and the man snapped back: "$13,000 is closer."

Alex paused, looking at the shadowbox. He was pretty sure there was a third place for rifle shooting in -- those competitions usually had three people per category -- and said: "I'll have to think about it a little -- would Jesus be able to help her get settled, once we've moved him out?"

And the man froze, greed and possession warring in his eyes. He looked out towards the back, and his voice was soft for a moment, and Alex could almost hear a tenderness in it. Almost.

"A man need to fulfill his duty."

Alex nodded, pulling himself to his feet. "I can help with boxes and get my checkbook from the truck?"

The man nodded, slowly. "I'll make sure he's alright with it -- it is his horse."

Alex was certain this was a negotiating tactic and that the man would be sharing none of the money with his son.

"Of course. Michael can take a look, tell me anything I need to know about her."

Michael rose, his boots careful on the stained carpet, leaving Vila and Ms Kishore with the teenager and they walked across the cracked and buckling linoleum of the 1970s-era kitchen, the smell of cigarettes filling the space, the trash overflowing with beer bottles.

Alex pretended not to see.

Out back was a carefully manicured garden and a slump-roofed shed with feed and a trough. Jesus was filling the trough with clean, clear water and the horse -- 

Alex hadn't lied when he told the man he'd never ridden a horse, but he knew a well-cared for animal when he saw one. She was a beautiful bay mare with white socks and a bright, asymmetrical star across her face. She had clear, brown eyes. Mara was leaning against the wall in the shade, hand on the horse's flank, eyes kind as she watched Jesus fill the water trough.

Michael nodded to Jesus and stepped-up to the horse, holding out his closed fist for her to smell. She huffed at him and sidled away, then sidled right back again, ducking her head to sniff the oil on his jeans. He took the motion to check her ears, her eyes, working his thumb under her lips and popping her jaw open to check her teeth. He ran his hand over her coat, checking for loose hairs and finding none, then checked her shoeing. 

He moved into the barn, moving the hay around, checking the tack.

He swaggered back to Alex, voice quiet as Jesus's father hovered close.

"$7,000 is a fair price, $10,000 including the trailer and the tack," he paused, "But it's not just her freedom we're buying today. So whatever he asks is fair enough."

Alex turned with a smile to the father: "She's a beautiful animal. What would it cost to include the tack?"

"$13,500," the man said, face straight and eyes chortling.

Alex turned to Jesus, trying to communicate with his eyes that it was really important to listen to his words and not how he seemed to be acting towards his father. "Jesus, I was figuring since your father has agreed for you to move out and your apartment doesn't have a stable, Astra could come live with me. You could come by and help me exercise her anytime, and so could your brother. Would that be alright?"

Jesus's eyes widened and something like joy moved across his features. "I could visit her?"

"She'll miss you if you do not," Jesus's father said and Jesus looked stricken. 

Alex said softly: "But I know you keep your responsibilities so well, so I'm not worried about that. And I would be happy to sell her back to you as soon as you have a place for her."

Jesus drew himself up, shoulders square: "If Mr. M. can take good care of her, then that is fair."

Alex nodded: "Thank you." He turned to his father, catching the foul glower he was directing his son's way over Alex's shoulder and withheld a shudder.

"Michael and I and Miss Kishore can help with your final boxes if you can get Astra into the trailer?"

Jesus's nodded, eyes bright, as he jogged to start gathering her tack, hands brushing her gently as she followed his movements carefully, following him around the shed and nudging him with her shoulder whenever he got close enough, big feet careful of his.

"I'll get the checkbook then," Alex said.

They filled the truck with the boxes in about 45 minutes, leaving Jesus and his brother's closet-sized rooms empty of everything and, on his father's orders, filling-in the thumbtack holes with toothpaste, "So I can get these rented and get some real earners in here."

Alex wrote the check to his father, and kept him out of the way, drawing stories of his deployment from him, keeping his intrusions to just those he could volley at Jesus when he or his brother moved through the living room with another box.

The gate was down on the moving truck, Astra in the trailer, and Jesus and his brother were hovering on the porch. Michael had agreed to drive the horse trailer and handed the keys to his truck over to Ms Kishore, with a plan to drive her back home to her own truck after they got Jesus and his brother moved into his new apartment. Jesus would drive the moving truck.

Alex's stomach clenched as he watched their father open his 5th beer of the hour. The two boys so clearly wanted a hug, or some sign of goodbye, but their father was merely glowering from his easy chair.

Michael voice was soft as he said to Jesus: "If we get on the road now, we can unpack by daylight. You can say goodbye from here if you want."

"Bye, Dad," Jesus said. 

His brother echoed: "Bye, Dad."

The man saluted them with the beer and Jesus laid his key on the lintel and closed the door carefully.

"Want to ride with me?" Alex said, and Jesus's brother shook his head.

"We want to ride with Michael and Astra, if that's ok."

"Of course."

Jesus had chosen a good, affordable apartment. It was only a few blocks from Crashdown, on a bus line that would let his brother take classes at the community college until he had saved-up enough for college. It had good windows, a quiet AC, and came with some basic furnishings the past tenant had left behind. Alex texted Isobel, who arrived with her adopted Mom with a full kit of cleaning and decorating tools. Jesus was slightly baffled by the blond women, but once Isobel showed him how the curved shower-rod she'd brought made the small shower feel massive, he grinned toothily and let them get on with it.

Jesus's brother's eyes were wide when he arrived with Michael after getting Astra settled; he didn't mention the lack of stable and Alex wondered if he was too overwhelmed to notice much of anything. He took in the apartment and wandered over to Alex, who was scrubbing-out the fridge before putting the Welcome Groceries Mrs Evans had bought in it, and stood over him.

"Why are you all doing this?"

Alex leaned back on his haunches, careful of his prosthetic, which was tricky thing to lean on.

He frowned, trying to get the words right: "Most of us here -- me and Michael in particular -- had to get started without family. Without anyone who cared for us. The others -- Ms Kishore, Mrs Evans, Isobel -- they got started with help. They had an easier time of it. Jesus is a good man and a good brother. He -- and you -- have had a rougher than you deserved. We can't go back and change how we started out, but if we can make it a little easier for you, well, that's the point of getting older. Fixing things for others that were broken for you."

"We can't pay you back," he said defensively.

"We don't need to be paid back. Just," Alex looked out at the room, the soft throw Isobel had brought for the grey couch after checking with Jesus about his favorite colors, "Try to do this for someone else, sometime."

The young man nodded and then Alex heard him heading to find Jesus, find his room, and get to decorating it. When Alex looked in an hour later, he saw the walls covered with rodeo posters and a carpet he suspected his mother had left him. The space was already smelling of Axe.

They ordered take-out and ate it sitting in the middle of the floor, Mrs Evans reminding everyone the last time she'd had "a good, old fashioned college move-in party" was before Isobel and Max had come to them. Alex glanced at Michael, and saw a look of longing flash across his face, that he quickly stifled with empanadas. Alex nudged his shoulder and he startled, then turned a small smile to him.

"It's nice to be able to help," he said. Alex nodded.

Once they had cleaned-up, Jesus and his brother both hugged each of them, big arms warm and tight, his brother shyer but still gripping each of them.

Mrs Evans dallied behind, asking Jesus a question. As they were walking down the external stairs, Alex heard her speaking to Ms Kishore:

"My church has a scholarship fund for the community college. I'm on the board -- do you think his younger brother might qualify?"

Ms Kishore nodded: "Jesus is always talking about his good grades and, well, what you've seen here is what they have, so he should be able to pass any mean's test."

"Perfect. I gave Jesus my number and got his, so I'll connect with him tomorrow."

Ms Kishore nodded and Alex felt his chest expand, his hand finding Michael's and squeezing tightly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing! I love them dearly!


	28. One Week, Five Days, 15 Hours

Caulfield squatted, massive and hateful against the bright dawning sky. Alex had driven alone, Maria and Kyle driving together again. He suspected Maria had been needling Kyle about the girl he was dating, a doctor who worked at Planned Parenthood. They had enough seats for the six elders. Warun, the man who had killed Kyle's father, had agreed the week before to be sedated and placed -- untouched and restrained by the collar and a straight-jacket -- in the back seat. The same protocol had been agreed to by the saboteurs, two elderly women -- Coria and Helenia -- with dull eyes and bruised wrists who nevertheless spoke clearly in images through Maria's psychic connection. Unlike the last time, they would not be removing their collars at a rest stop; they would keep them on even when they went inside the pods.

Alex worked his way out of the truck, pulling on his icy mental mask as the grey gravel crunched under his boots, before he met Kyle and Maria's determined eyes. They were both bundled-up, everything but their hands and faces covered in spite of the 100 degree heat at 9am, since several of the elders' powers required skin contact and they wanted to be safe.  _Belt and suspenders approach to alien abduction._

A white-lab-coated, white-haired, white-skinned scientist was jogging up the sidewalk towards them.

"Captain Manes, I'm Dr Wallstone. I've been meaning to speak with you about my experiment --"

Alex stalked past him towards the prison, trying to see where Flint was hiding. The man skipped to keep up as Maria and Kyle followed at their own pace.

He was still talking: "I think you'll be excited by the results --"

Alex halted in the piecing sunshine, feeling horror etch across his face: "What results? I ordered all experiments to stop a month ago."

The man sputtered and simpered: "We talked about it on the team, and we agreed that you meant no _new_ experiments, but the ones which kept them stable as a cohort, those could continue. You see, the creatures, they're communal. What's happening to one has to happen to them all or they get, out of balance. Unpredictable. So we," and here he was waving his phone in Alex's face, but Alex wasn't processing it. _What had this man done?_

Kyle grabbed the man's wrist, holding his phone still. It was a map of northern Mexico and the Southwest. There were a handful of yellow dots scattered around Caulfield. There were a cluster of red dots in Área Natural Protegida Médanos de Samalayuca, where Max had dumped the tracking collar. There was a green marker, flying a search pattern across the park. Alex felt his back freeze.

"We tracked the collars and deduced you were trying exposure and temperature-extreme therapy. Their bodies need to go through about the same things, to keep the communal aspects of their powers in alignment with each other. So we shipped them out today, for similar exposure."

Maria's voice grated and caught on a jagged thought: "Sent who?" As Kyle caught onto the horror faster: "Sent them where?"

"The creatures, of course," Dr Wallstone said, something about their tones finally breaking through his obliviousness, so he peered over his glasses and slowed down: "They're gone."

\--

Alex was shaking as he frog-marched Dr Wallstone to Flint's office. Alex shoved the doctor in through the door, not caring that he stumbled on the industrial carpet.

Flint was siting in a big chair behind a big dark wood desk, his pale blue walls thick with his father's commendations. Flint was looking at the map from Dr Wallstone's phone on one large screen bolted to the wall. On the screen below it was drone footage of the Área Natural Protegida Médanos de Samalayuca.

"I don't think you've been straight with me, Alex," Flint said, turning with an ugly smile: "Not that you ever could."

Alex was silent, Maria and Kyle stiff beside him, waiting to see what he knew. Dr Wallstone sidled to put the desk between him and Alex. 

Flint stood, moving past Dr Wallstone to stand between Alex and the desk before he put his heavy hand on Alex's shoulder, his face twisted and triumphant as Alex stared him down:

"I finally figured it out," Flint pointed back to the screen with his free hand, "There's a little house there, too deep in the woods for us to see through the tree cover. But I think I know," he said, his voice a little singsong. He lowered his face, deep into Alex's guard as Alex held his ground: "I think you've been trying to _save_ them," he growled, "I think you've got them on some little compound someplace, trying to play house south of the border. They're _monsters_ , Alex. How long until they kill someone, or reveal their presence and cause a war with Mexico? Your people always talk about gun control but then you're letting them roam free. They're walking M-16s or worse -- walking A-bombs.They're  _murderers_. They killed your father, Valenti."

"I know," Kyle said flatly, "I read the files. I watched the video and heard the audio _._ That's why I'm overseeing the experiments."

Something flashed across Flint's eyes, but he kept going.

"Then you'll understand why we had to do what we did with the surplus creatures."

Alex leaned his weight forward, forcing Flint to lean back, but not able to get his hand off his shoulder without breaking his gaze: "What did you do, Sergeant Manes?"

Flint pressed down his weight on where his hand rested on Alex's shoulder, and Alex wouldn't flinch, though he could feel his prosthetic digging into his stump. He kept his eyes steady, watching the madness of his father rise in his brother's eyes and realizing there was never anything he could have done to stop it.

"You think you can _save_ them. That they deserve to be saved. You're the commanding officer. I can't change that, but I also can't trust you to keep people safe _from_ them. I guess I never could. It's been _weeks_ without meaningful reports. The experiments these men," and he gestured to Dr Wallstone, "have spent their lives designing and conducting have been dropped without any kind of read-out." He shook his head sadly, "I should have just liquidated them without contacting you, but Dad said you were in charge. Well, fine. You're in charge. You get to make the command decision."

He looked at the Alex: " _You_ did this, Alex. We knew we couldn't keep them here anymore. You've made that clear. You're shutting us down, have been for months. But I thought you'd had a plan, a real plan, for what to do with them." He tightened his grip, enunciating each word in Alex's face: "But you don't. You're basically letting them go. So I followed your line of thinking, little bro, but because _I_ care about the damage these monsters can do, I let them go in places they can't hurt anyone."  
  
A nasty smile worked its way across his face before it was buried again under the hate twisting his too-familiar features: "They're a herding-species, stronger together. That's what Dr Wallstone has been trying to tell you in all those updates you've been filing in the circular file. When they're together, they can sort-of spread-out what happens to them. It's why we had to keep them isolated -- when they could touch, speak, nothing we did could control them enough to keep the guards safe from them. So since you can't be trusted, this morning at dawn, each guard took a sedated, collared creature hundreds of miles away from here to designated locations," and he pointed to the map. It showed the picture, file name, longitude and latitude of each Antaran. Alex saw Maria slipping her phone out of her pocked -- and so did Flint. He let-out a harsh laugh.

"Go ahead, jot down those GPS coordinates." 

She took a photo of them and then began transcribing them, fingers flying, face as cold as iron. 

His voice was gleeful, unbalanced, but so, so sincere. "But that's the thing. The decision. The command decision, baby bro. You can't get all of them. They're out there, it'll be 110 degrees by noon, no water, no shelter, unable to care for themselves even inside this place they've called home for decades, that _you_ want to move them from. You've only got two trucks. You can't get to them all in time. _You_ save them all. _You never could._ You're alone and you'll never be good enough."

Alex's body was frozen, mind spinning, trying to figure out a way, trying to -- then Maria pushed herself in front of him, shoving Flint's hand off his shoulder and spitting into Flint's face.

"You were a son of a bitch when you were 17 years old, Flint Manes. And you're still a son of a bitch." Before he could do more than rear-back and scoff, she smashed her fist into his smirk, throwing her knee into his groin in the same motion and then finishing the motion with a stomp on his knee -- it made a sickening crack and he crumpled and began to howl.

There was clarity in the sound and Alex snapped into action: "Clear out your people and leave your files," Alex ordered Dr Wallstone over his older brother's sobs, "No one will be here when I come back tomorrow or I will know why." He looked down at his brother and wanted to feel --

"Alex, let's go," Kyle said, tugging on his arm.

Alex squared his shoulders and knelt in front of Flint. He didn't know if he could hear him, but he need to say it: "You didn't have to do this. You'll live your whole life knowing you hurt people you should have protected, and protected people who didn't deserve your strength. And you need to know this too: I'm never alone. Not anymore."

He took Kyle and Maria's helping hands to get back to standing. 

They ran back out of the prison, hearing Dr Wallstone's shouts rousing the scientists, ordering them to clear-out, ordering -- Alex tuned him out, dragging his mind back to the problem at hand.

They jogged together in the baking New Mexico heat, sweat trailing down his spine beneath his undershirt, Maria's phone in her hand, Kyle's arms full of some kind of binders he'd grabbed from Flint's office: "Six elders. Six locations -- you got them?"

Maria nodded and Alex felt his pocket buzz. They were almost to the trucks.

Maria's voice was flat and she was stretching her hand; a punch to the face usually hurts both people: "I just sent them to the group."

"Thank you. The six remaining elders have been out there for," and he checked his phone: 9:35am, "They've been out for 3 and a half hours. Like Flint said: no shelter, no water. We're on the clock," he packed-away the sounds Flint had made on the floor, everything else he'd been worrying about. Faster than words, he laid it out in his mind -- the map, the resources at his disposal, the power-profiles each of the Antarans.

He turned to Maria: "Maria, can you assign our people, including Mara, Jamarsh, and Vila, and send them each out? Kyle, you help her pick based on the power and psyche profiles. Everyone can and should get gallons of water at the gas stations en route."

Kyle was pulling up his copies of their files on his phone, asking without looking up: "Who are you thinking should go for the Warun?" Alex closed his eyes: "Ask Mara if she and Isobel could convince him to get into the back of a truck without touching anyone. That would be ideal."

Kyle nodded and dialed his phone, calling Mara. Alex looked at the map Maria had texted -- Helenia was nearest to Caulfield. One of the saboteurs, she was an old woman who couldn't speak, couldn't eat without help. Her powers were never strong, but her cruelty had shown-up in a number of the other elders' stories. She could heal, but chose not to. Even when there were lives on the line after the crash, in the cells during those first few, horrifying weeks in 1947. 

He leaned over to Maria: "I'm going for the one furthest north -- Helenia." Maria nodded, typing on her phone, coordinating through the Signal thread. "I had thought Kyle and I would go for her, but I think we might need his help with one east of here. We'll all bring them back to your place?"  


Alex shook his head: "We'll bring everyone to the pods. Most of them are going straight into them, per Mara's plan. That's what they were expecting. Then I'm going to get back here and oversee the complete shutdown of this facility. The way I should have months ago."

"You didn't know they were going to do this --"

Alex shook his head; he _couldn't_. He just couldn't right now. "I'll see you at the pods."

"Alex -- " Maria said, but he'd turned his back.

His phone rang before he got his truck turned on. It was Michael. He snapped-on his seatbelt.

"Maria said you're flipping out and trying to hide it and I'm supposed to calm you down, but the thing is, you don't want to or need to be calm right now, right?"

Alex felt a weight shift on his shoulders: "No, I don't."

"I get it. We can decompress later, but right now, be your best BAMF self."

Alex choked a little and felt that weight lift. He threw his car into reverse and twisted to see out the back. He didn't bother to turn it around, just taking the vehicle backwards out the driveway at full speed.

"Can you tell me the groups who are going out?"

Michael paused, his voice sounding a little far away as he probably pulled the phone away to look at the texts.

"So you're getting Helenia, and Mara and Isobel and Vila are getting Warun. Kyle and Maria are getting Dakil and Rintha since they're near each other, Max and Liz and Jamarsh are getting Goldrion, and I'm -- oh."

"'Oh' what?"

"Nothing, it's just -- I'm getting Coria, which is fine, but it looks like from her tracker she's 7 miles from the nearest road. It looks like she picked a direction and started walking." Alex slammed the truck around so he was moving forward, heading north as quickly as he could, listening so hard for Michael's soft voice from his speakers, he could almost hear him think. "I'll take Astra," he said. "Coria only 5 miles from here as the horse runs, and another 5 to the cave, to the pods. It'll take way longer to drive and then walk in to her and then walk her back out."

"With her powers -- will she be safe?" _Will you be safe_ , echoed in his mind, but he couldn't say it.

"Yeah, she's a light-bringer. Not much harm she can do in the middle of the desert sun."

"I trust you," Alex said, though all he wanted to do was bundle him up, just wrap him up away from the world. But they were in the world together and he wouldn't want anyone keeping him from doing what was right.

"I love you. See you at the cave," Michael said.

"I love you too."

Alex was beyond glad they had quickly built the stable that he'd claimed to Jesus's father he already had. The elders who had telekineses has handled much of the work, but there had been more than enough manual labor to go around last night. It meant Astra should be well-fed and well-watered for an unexpected gallop across the sage scrub.

\--

Alex found Helenia, sitting with her legs crossed, sweat running rivers under her thin cotton clothes, at exactly the location where they'd left her, tucked under a massive sage bush. He approached her slowly, but she just kept her eyes closed, face to the sun, hands on her knees, palms up. He sat in front of her and she opened dull blue eyes. He handed her a small paper cup that he'd filled with water from the ice-cold gallon he was carrying. She just looked at it. He put his gloved hand around hers and guided it to her mouth and she sipped it, eyes closing in pleasure. She finished five cups before she would stand, and another five on the walk back to the truck. As she drank, Alex kept track of the other teams. Everyone but Michael had checked-in that they were on their way to their assigned elders.

He helped her up into the front passenger seat and reached across her to put on her seatbelt.

She gave him a look like, _what is this for?_  
  
Alex's voice was soft, figuring she could understand tone if not language: "Your seatbelt keeps you safe. I was in a war, in a desert a long way away from here. People didn't wear them there -- they still died, people just don't wear them. None of the soldiers in my convoy did; they all died when the IED hit. I was wearing mine, and I lost my foot, bled into the dirt for hours before they found me, bits of John and Riley in my hair, on my uniform, in my eyes. But I survived, because I used this."

Her eyes were barely following him, but he hoped she took comfort in the sound of his voice, in that he was responding to her as one adult to another and not treating her like a vegetable.

"It's a long drive in. You should drink some water if you can. You can sleep, or I'll play music." 

To her distanced look, he corrected himself: "I'll play music."

They drove, Hozier playing low beneath the rolling tires and the sound of the desert wind flinging sand against the glass: 

 

> _ All you have is your fire _  
>  _ And the place you need to reach  
>  Don't you ever tame your demons  
>  But always keep them on a leash_

\--

When Alex pulled up in the arroyo, he saw  Mara was standing in the cool, shadowed mouth of the cave, three new elders standing close beside her, facing her. Alex could see Warun's body laid-out on the ground, sleeping or tranquilized, arms still in his straight-jacket. Helenia drifted away from Alex's hand on her elbow, standing apart from Mara but out of the sun. Vila glanced up her her, glared, and stood closer to Mara. The other elders who had been out longer were deeper inside the cave, some wandering, some helping Max, Liz, Isobel, Maria, and Kyle prep the silver. 

Alex looked around.

Everyone was back, except for Michael and Coria.

"Where's Michael?"

Maria's face was pinched as she worked over a propane burner, melting industrial silver: "He lost cell-service a few miles in, hours ago; we haven't heard anything."

Alex bit down on his first reply, saying only: "Do we have his last known location?"

"Yes," Maria said slowly, eyes on her hands, "But it's been hours, Alex. He's probably nearly here."

Alex started to argue, but then he heard Mara call out his name. He didn't want to keep her waiting so he turned away.

She spoke quietly: "Every one of them has confirmed they will go into the seeds," Alex looked around and saw no dissent. "They have decided the order they will enter the seeds. Warun will go first, though someone will need to instruct him on how to prepare himself, since no one can touch him."

Kyle stepped forward and Alex wanted to stop him; this was too much, even for his code. But he was looking, eyes steady, right at Mara. She looked to Warun and they seemed to exchange some kind of silent communication. Then she nodded. 

Liz and Max and Jamarsh, Isobel and Maria and Vila, Mara and Alex each paired with an elder, helping them prepare, hands dirty and minds tired from repeating and repeating instructions they could never be sure were fully understood.

Michael didn't arrive.

The sun got lower, and Helenia slipped into his pod with a smile. Next was Dakil. Then Rintha.

Michael didn't arrive.

Max and Liz were helping prep Goldrion when Isobel nearly-sprinted into the abandoned mine.

"Alex, you need to come outside to see this," she said, and there was some high tension in her voice that Alex didn't recognize. He forced himself into a jog out into the deep afternoon sunlight. Then he looked up and -- "Huh."

There was Michael, astride Astra, arm protectively around a little old woman who was wearing his black stetson and drowsing against his chest.

"Huh." Alex said again as Michael guided Astra closer closer, the big bay heading for Alex with the focus of a horse who had recently discovered someone soft enough to sneak her apples. Michael held-up his phone, which was bent in the middle like a hairpin, crack looking suspiciously like a hoof-print, but Alex couldn't wonder how it had gotten that way. He hadn't thought, with the panic and the fury and the fear of the day, that he would be able to feel his heart flutter, his palms sweat, his body tingle and flush -- but here they were. Panic and heat all washed through him. _Michael in full cowboy gear gets me going, no matter the situation. Good to know_.

Alex stroked Astra's face briefly, then slipped around to her side, helping the older woman get her legs on the same side as Michael helped lower her down with his powers. Isobel took her arm, snatching the hat from her head and seeing it on Alex’s before guiding her into the cave, leaving Alex and Michael alone on the arroyo plain.

Alex looked-up and he knew what he was thinking was showing clear on his face, because Michael broke into a smirk.

"Like what you see, Private?"  
  
"Only a soldier for a few more days. You're going to have to find a new way to flirt."  
  
Michael's voice was low: "In a few days, we'll have all kinds of new ways to 'flirt.'"

And Alex closed his eyes, a shudder working its way up his body and when he looked-up, he could see Michael's thrilled smile.

"Sorry I was late; horses and horse-power aren't the same thing, and Coria took some finding. She was hiding in the shade of a mesa, 10 miles out by the time I got to her. We get everyone else back?" He asked as he swung himself out of the saddle.

And Alex said: "Yes," and Michael gathered the reigns and tucked himself into Alex's body in one smooth gesture. Astra huffed her irritation, but let them close the gaps between them, arms and legs and bodies moving, her body blocking the sight of anything but their overlapping boots from the assembled elders.

Michael had buried his face in Alex's neck, breathing deeply, avoiding dislodging the Stetson.

"Alright, let's get her safe. Then let's go home."

Alex felt every fiber of his body calling for that, but even as he breathed Michael in, he said: "I have to go back to Caulfield, make sure they cleared-out the way they had to."

Michael rubbed his hands up and down Alex's back.

"You're sure it can't wait?"

Alex shook his head: "This happened because of  _me_ \--"

Michael pulled back, sun-kissed whiskey eyes serious in the fading light: "That sounds like someone else's voice coming out of your mouth. Who said that to you?"

Alex looked down: "Flint was right. I went about this the wrong way --"

Michael's mouth twisted: "Do you think there was some way you could do this that wouldn't have gotten messy, at some point? Power doesn't concede, Alex. Not for anything. Not for anyone. They were always going to try some bullshit like this. We need to celebrate that we won, not give them space rent-free in our heads to shout at us."

Alex started to object and Michael laid his hand, gently as a breeze, along the side of his jaw: "Go and oversee the close-down. Bring Valenti. Bring DeLuca. Do what you have to."

He leaned in, mouth hovering less than a breath from Alex's lips as Alex swayed deep into him, feeling warm inside for the first time today: "Then come home to me."

\--

Alex, Kyle, and Maria found Caulfield entirely abandoned when they arrived two hours later. Alex was still wearing Michael’s Stetson but neither of his friends commented on it. As they wove through the building, flashlights casting ghosts on the empty corridor walls until they found the light switches in the scientists' offices. On each desk was a transition memo, detailing how they wanted their experiments continued, their files in-tact as far as they could tell. Wallstone's transition memo was 10 pages long. Flint had stripped his father's commendations from the walls but left the map up on the screen. Alex knew they all had a month of leave before their transfers took place and wondered if he would see any of them at the base gym the following Sunday. 

He shuddered at the thought.

They went to the cells and there was such a feeling of menace, of evil in those small rooms, Alex had to force himself to walk the entire thing, to make sure nothing had been left.

He took them to the basement, to see the engine. It still hummed there, lights shifting and pearlescent, hovering against the walls. There was a crowbar and a shotgun, like someone had tried to destroy it on their way out. Alex was betting on Flint. But it appeared untouched. The pieces not only wanted to be together; they wanted to be whole. And they would do what they needed to go get there.

They would need to set-up a security system, they would need to catalogue all of the files, they would need to move the control panel here. 

But those were tasks for another day.

Alex found the keys to the front door, hanging under Flint's desk. He locked it behind him, Kyle, and Maria and looked-up at the hulking building that had brought so much pain, brought-out the evil in so many people. He pressed his hand to the door, and he could  _feel_ it, humming under there, _screaming_.

Then he felt Maria's hand on his shoulder, Kyle's on his wrist, and the screaming stopped. His head quieted as Kyle said: "Come on, Alex," and Maria wrapped an arm around his waist: "Let's get you home."

\--

Michael's touch was light, soft when he met Alex on the front porch. He pulled him through the dark living room, down the dark hallway, and into the bathroom. He shut the door, turned on the soft lights, and got the tub filling.

Alex stood on the art tile, body numb, mind lost for the moment but knowing Michael would find him soon.

"Let's get that prison stink off of you -- is that ok, love?" Michael said, and Alex nodded. _Anything_.

Michael undressed him, starting with the Stetson, which he laid recently beside the sink. But there were no lingering touches, no intent, just palms and fingers and arms he had come to know as well as his own. Michael put in the bubble bath and when he realized Alex wasn't going to make any move he didn't have to, he stripped off down to his briefs and guided him down to sit on the edge of the tub. Alex took his prosthetic off on auto-pilot, easing between Michael's legs in the bath. He sagged against him, letting his head fall back on Michael's warm shoulder.

"It's done. Caulfield is closed. It's ours now. If we need it."

Michael hummed, arm wrapping around Alex's stomach. "That sounds like a tomorrow conversation. For tonight, why don't you tell me something good."

Alex's mind was blank, raw static. Then he closed his eyes and said: "I think I know what I want to do, after the Air Force."

"Yeah?" Michael said.

Alex nodded: "I think I'm going to open a self-defense studio in town, and if the tribal councilmember I'm connecting with through Ms Kishore is ok with it, I'll teach there too. It's not going to be a big moneymaker --"

He felt Michael shrug: "Isobel's more than happy to chip in, now she's not building a house in the backyard."

He continued: "But buying Astra only took out about 10% of my savings, so we can coast for a while. But I want --"

He closed his eyes, reaching out blindly to grip Michael's left hand: "Maria broke Flint's knee today. She was able to fight back, to protect me when I froze. Violence doesn't solve most problems, but it can stop violence. And physical confidence, practice being strong --"

"You don't have to sell me on it, love. I know it's important to know how to protect yourself," he said, squeezing his hand.

Alex nodded. "And I want to spend more time on the rez. I want to know more about that part of me, see if there's some story about my family that doesn't start and end with Jesse Manes."

Michael pressed his lips to Alex's shoulder: "You're speaking with someone on the tribal council?"

"Ms Kishore said she'd introduce me."

"That's really good, love."

Alex twisted around his his lap, so he could grip Michael's upper-arm. "I'm not planning anything permanent, a new career, because I'm planning on going to the stars with you. But for in a year, I could teach," he felt a smile move across his face, "I could teach a lot of people to protect themselves and the ones they love."

Michael pressed a kiss to his mouth: "It's a great idea. But first, let's get you cleaned off and into bed."

Alex kissed him one more time and then leaned forward to reach for the soap.

"Thanks, love," he said, quietly enough it was almost lost in the sound of water sloshing.

But Michael heard it.

He pressed his lips to the center of Alex back then reached forward for the soap, so he could wash his shoulders and spine: "Anytime, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are life! Thank you so much to everyone who's been letting me know how they like this, it is wonderful to know this story is touching people.


	29. Zero Weeks, Four Days, 12 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I went to 9 states, 9 national parks, in about 9 days. It was a blast. Now, updates! 
> 
> There's a slight warning for an in-community racial slur that Alex thinks about himself and his Apache heritage. Again, I'm not Native American/American Indian so I'm drawing on the research I did into the Mescalero Reservation, and the 15 years each two of my uncles spent living and working on Apache and Navajo reservations respectively. But I will mess stuff up, so if you're from an indigenous background and have better information, please let me know.

"So I hear you're a man who likes to overpay for horses," came the voice through Alex's phone. He didn't always pick-up on unknown numbers, but Ms Kishore had told him to expect Councilwoman Misquez's call.

"Well," Alex started, laying down his mattock in the trench he'd been digging for Mara on his lunch break, "I do when it's the only way to help two scared young men away from an abusive father."

"So you're a savior type?" Alex took a breath. She sounded middle-aged; her LinkedIn had said she'd gotten her Masters at UC Berkeley in Political Science in the 80s. He couldn't tell her tone through the connection.

"No," he said evenly, "Just someone who's been where they were and had no one to help me."

There was quiet on the line. "And the elders you brought with you and the white guy, they're your, what, sidekicks?"

Alex huffed a laugh, hoping Mara never heard Councilwoman Misquez call her that. "No, if anything, I'm their sidekick. Michael's my partner and Mara and Vila, they're his mother and aunt. They live with us."

"Because they got kicked out of their care home for fighting." 

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, remembering that's what he'd told Ms Kishore, and hearing the criticism for putting elders in a care home in the first place.

"Michael was in the foster care system from seven to when he ran away from the last awful placement at 17. We had no idea where his Mom was, but when he had a chance to reconnect with her, he took it. I was glad to be able to help."

There was another pause on the line. This felt more like an interrogation than a welcome, but then, that's what Ms Kishore had told him to expect.

"So," Councilwoman Misquez said, voice in a little bit of a quieter tone, "Ms Kishore said you were interested in getting involved in the reservation. Why?"

Alex looked at the dirt, eyebrows scrunching. "My mother was an enrolled member. She brought my older brothers to the rez, taught them about her culture, but by the time I was born, she was nearly ready to leave Jesse Manes. My father. She was gone by the time I was six, dead by the time I was 20. I didn't see much of her in those intervening 14 years, given the strangle-hold my father had on us."

He paused, fingers tracing a pattern in the dirt he'd disturbed, feeling the sun hot and centering on his back. "I, how do I say this," he took a breath, "I don't have a lot of good stories about who I am, about where I am from. I don't know my mother's family, her people. I was kept from that. I've been spending a lot of time with old friends, people who know or are learning more about their own histories, and it seems to help them plan their futures. I'm getting out of the military in three days after 10 years, will be starting a martial arts studio here in Roswell and continuing to teach the classes where I met Jesus and the other kids from the rez. But --" He flattened his hand on the rich red earth, seeing it move between his fingers: "When I joined the military, I brought nothing. No agenda, no skills. A whole heap of issues my father thought a uniform would solve for me, issues that weren't even actual problems or that he had fought for years to dig into my skin. But I'm older now. I have skills. I have real ways I can contribute to a community and if I want to join a new one, I want to bring something real. So what I was hoping to know, what Ms Kishore mentioned you might be able to help with, is figuring out if there are things I know, I am good at, that I could contribute."

Councilwoman Misquez hummed: "I don't know -- I don't know what skills you have."

Alex twisted a smile, wiping his forehead with his shirtsleeve: "Aside from self-defense, I can teach programming and codebreaking and guitar; I'm good with budgets and logistics and strategy; I can't lift or carry as much as I used to, but since you caught me doing the hardscaping for a new front garden, you can tell I am not afraid of manual labor."

"How are you with livestock?"

Alex crooked his head, and quirked a smile, looking at where Astra was grazing and keeping an eye on him: "I'm learning. But you might want Michael for something like that; he was a range rider for the Foster's Ranch."

"What I really need, right now, is an adult with a car, no record, who's good with kids, and who can coach the kid's rodeo team. Recruiters were on the rez like crazy all year and they took our last coach with a bonus he couldn't say no to. He's at San Antonio doing BMT right now. There's kids on the team who've done well at regional competitions, won some pocket money, and others who are frankly only there because their parents need someone to watch them as they go to their second job on the weekend."

Alex shook his head: "I've been to rodeos, but I have no idea how to teach it."

"If you survived 10 years in the Air Force, I think you can pick it up. It will give you a chance to meet people here, for them to see you working. You'll meet a lot of families, get to know kids before and after their adulthood ceremonies. It will give you a chance to get known on the rez. And it's filling an actual, real need."

She cleared her throat: "Ask your partner what it entails. See if he can teach you the basics. You've got a horse, which is a lot more than most of these kids. If you could bring her, we can add them into some of the higher-paying horse competitions. There's scholarships out there for good riders and they just need the chance."

"I'll ask Michael," he promised.

"Alright," she said, "Ms Kishore said you were interested in Apache stories. I can email you some titles, written by folks on the rez. Once you've read them, you might have a better idea of what you want to know on that front. About Sierra Blanca, who is sacred to us." That tugged at a memory, something his mother had told him about the hot spring; about how that was the volcano that heated the hot spring. That that was why his mother had chosen this land, because it still connected her to that place.

"Thank you," he said, saving that story for later.

She made a gruff noise, sounding like she was thinking about how to phrase something. Then she said:  "Culture isn't blood. You're not going to make-up for lost time. But, communities are made of the people who work in them, who do the work. You can find people who can tell you your family stories, can find a place there. It's just not going to be a quick fix."

"I don't believe in quick fixes, so that's fine," Alex said.

"Good." She said and hung-up.

Alex wiped his hands over his face, stretching the cricks out of his neck. Of all the ways he'd imagined that conversation going, that was -- not bad. No shouting about him being an apple, no assumptions about what he knew or didn't know. It was a professional, adult conversation, if a bit more confrontational than he'd usually go for.

"Everything alright?" Came Jamarsh's voice from the porch.

"Yeah," Alex said, checking his phone, "I've still got about 40 minutes left on my lunch, so I'm going to finish this."

"You know Mara or Michael could do that with a thought," Jamarsh said, voice neutral and Alex nodded. "Yeah, but I like the work. It helps distract me."

"From what?"

Alex closed his eyes, not wanting to tell Jamarsh about the countdown running full-blast in his head to midnight Sunday night; not wanting to tell him why Michael wouldn't be sleeping over any night this week; not wanting to tell him why all of the elders would be bunking other places for the week after Sunday.

"Stuff." He said, reverting to his teenaged self. 

Jamarsh did not look fooled, but he let Alex get away with it.

Alex was working from home this particular Tuesday and had offered to host all of the elders at his place, since his team was at the conference in Colorado Springs he'd had to back out of once they realized what kind of care the Antarans would need. He didn't mind; Colorado Springs was a kind of conservative he didn't feel like wading through this week, and he didn't need to network with the people there anymore.

Astra had sidled into shade beside the house once Michael had fed and watered her that morning. She hadn't tried to push the fences and so had the full run of the 40 acres, but since they'd brought her home 10 days ago and when she wasn't bedded down fo the night, she'd been staying near the house. Alex suspected Astra was subtly trying to communicate telepathically that she wanted any apples he might be considering concealing. He hadn't asked Mara if she could speak to Astra yet; he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

Jesus and his brother had come by almost every day to visit with her and teach Alex how to ride; he suspected it was Astra's indulgence rather than his skill that had gotten him around the shed in the little training circle they'd been working on, but he'd take it.

The Antarans weren't the only elders in the house and shed today. Mara and Maria had gotten to chatting after the evening at the cave and realized that many of Mara's questions about how to design a garden in the Southwest were exactly the kind of things Mimi DeLuca knew. So this morning, bright and early, Maria had dropped Mama DeLuca off for her third day of gossiping, planning, and planting with Mara while Vila pretended to practice her oboe fingering but really was listening-in and smirking to herself. 

The other three elders had turned the tool shed into their clubhouse and last Alex had checked on them, had been looking over Michael's blueprints to integrate the engine into the console while drinking iced tea and eating the muffins Kyle had left with them when he'd dropped them off that morning with a grateful hug for Alex.

Alex popped-in his earbuds again and got back to digging  on the long trench that would serve as the front bed's border, enjoying the stretch of swinging the mattock over his head and the  _crunch_  when it bit into the rain-softened red earth. Panic's "Dancing's Not a Crime" gave his every swing a beat. No one had to know if he had it on a loop or not.

\--

After work but before they had to get dinner started, Alex wandered back to the shed to check-in on the other elders; Kyle had said they would be fine on their own for a few hours, as long as they were walking distance to someone who could help if there was an issue. Walking in the door, it still hit Alex the same every time -- the golden light, the sense of safety. Mara had been working with him and Michael, teaching them to surf over the most painful parts of their memories here. She'd never seen anything of what happened other than the seconds before Jesse Manes had walked in, since both he and Michael had excellent motivation and control over sharing that part with anyone besides each other, but she had helped them control how the space made them feel, focusing on the warmth and dulling the pain. Alex just thought it was a relief to be able to walk in here without hearing the echoes of screams.

Alex had brought a big jug of lemonade and was greeted with quiet smiles from the three elders. He looked for a place to put it the a folding table piled high with blueprints as one of them made room. He frowned a little -- those blueprints didn't look like the control panel, and didn't look like the garden. In fact -- he tilted his head, frowning, leaning across the table to put his finger on a word:

_Reactor._

He glanced into the eyes of the woman at the table and she glanced towards the house.

"Mara was waiting to talk to you about it until we were certain. But I believe we are."

Alex frowned: "Talk with me about _what --_ "

She smiled secretly and blinked slowly towards the house. A moment later, Alex heard the front door open and saw Mara coming around the side of the house, loose clothes flowing in the afternoon wind as Jamarsh and Vila followed her.

She opened the door to the shed, eyes meeting Alex's. At her entrance, all of the other elders looked-up at her. She took a breath and said:

"We are going to raze Caulfield."

\--

Alex called a dinner that night with the whole group and Mara explained. A few moments in, Alex realized this was a plan she'd spent a long, long time on. Years, certainly; decades, maybe. Long before she knew about the reactor, knew whether Michael and Max and Isobel had survived or not. It was symmetrical and brutal and creative and everything he'd been learning she put into a garden. Watching her plan the garden, with its compost heaps and its annuals, Alex had realized that, for gardeners like Mara, destruction was part of the joy of the work. Smashing rocks, pulling-up plants by their roots, feeding some and smothering others -- they were as much a part of gardening as the careful planting and the gentle-fingered tending of seeds.

The weeds that grew in her garden became compost; the compost became soil for what she needed. Plants made their own seeds, trees their own shade. It was a closed system. She didn't just want to raze Caulfield.

The blueprints she unrolled across the cleared table after a dinner of ribs and cornbread with salsa Christmas style weren't just for Caulfield -- they were for the garden it would become.

Her voice was firm, quiet, every eye on her: "The way Michael built the hot spring -- it's the oldest form of our gifts there is. The people who took over our world, they thought our powers were gifts because they were given to us. But they are  _not_. They are gifts that we give to others."

The table was looking at Mara with rapt attention and she held it, she moved through it like water, like she was weaving a new world: " In a world where we could not communicate mind-to-mind, it would take months to train everyone on their roles for a project like this. Who will take down which load-bearing joist, who would remove which pylons. But I can share the plan in moments, have you understand it in seconds, and we can do this  _tonight_."

"We need to move the boxes, the papers, the files --" Kyle started and Mara nodded.

"Yes. That is work the humans in the group can do, and the adult children. None of us want to set foot in that place again. But while it stands, it is a loaded gun, pointing at our heads. At our futures."

"Aside from the heavy lifting," Liz asked, "What are the non-Antarans going to contribute?"

"Power," she said, "Max's love for you, that's what will let him bring the kind of power that will level buildings to a place of control, of precision. Just like Michael did with Alex. Your presence is what makes this a gift, the melting-down of a uncontrollable weapon, not just self-erasing revenge."

Isobel's face twisted when she said: "But I don't have a partner to --"

Mara interrupted: "Friendship is love. I think, if you will allow it, you and Maria could connect. And Kyle, you and Patnar," she said, naming one of the elders who had been living with Kyle at the cabin. "The love of care is a kind of love too. You are each loved and you each love. There is enough power in this room to do this."

Maria got to brass tacks: "So you want us to clear Caulfield, then, what arrive at midnight some night this week, and you all will share your powers and take it apart, brick by brick, attic to abasement, cells to stairways?"

"Exactly." Mara said.

Ales looked around the table. Every elder was nodding, eyes intent on Mara. Michael looked doubtful but Max and Isobel, they were hooked. Liz shrugged: "It's not our call."

Kyle said: "I want to see that place ground down to fucking dust. A garden, that's -- that's kinder than I could be. Mara's right -- as long as it's there, those cells, those facilities could be used again. We need the data, the research, to understand what they knew; but that building can bring no good --"

Mara shook her head: "The transformation will be a closed system -- every piece of concrete will become amendment or hardscaping. Most will make pathways and systems for the water deep in the aquifer to rise up to where the plants' roots can get to it. The basement, we'll leave a door, flat to the surface, hidden except to us to a space a large enough underground to build the ship. They'll be an underground greenhouse to grow more of the pods --" she leaned across the table, pointing to the blueprint.

Alex saw it labeled carefully on the blueprint but held-up his hand: "I think it will take Kyle and Maria and I at least a full day to empty it. But then, perhaps, tomorrow night?"

Liz had an experiment and then Kyle had a long shift, so they ended-up deciding on Friday night.

"That's better anyway," Mara said, a witchy smile on her face: "It'll be the new moon."

\--

Alex, Kyle, and Maria took Alex's truck to Caulfield just before sunset. Liz and Michael drove the elders to the rest stop they'd used before, to await the all clear. The plan was to begin at midnight to lessen the likelihood a random driver a county away would see what they were doing. Because there was no small way to raze a prison to the ground. 

Liz and Alex and Kyle and Maria had cleared the building during the week, bringing three truckloads of boxes back to store in the Project Shepherd bunker. 

As Alex walked the prison from top to bottom he found it was -- quiet. Empty. The wind moved with him, as Alex opened every door he found, the smells of decades of people and solvents and pain moving with them. The last room he checked still held the engine, lightshow constant and more beautiful than anything else he'd found in that tortured place. 

He sent a text to the group once they had finished and were back at the truck:

> Alex: All clear.

He leaned back against it, reviewing the plan.

The nine Antarans would form a circle around the prison, allowing them each to see the work they were doing, allowing Mara to see each of them once they bulk of the building was gone. The humans would be with the Antarans they were most closely connected to, pairs and singles alternating.

"You think this will work?" Kyle asked in a low voice and Alex tapping his fingers on the dusty paint of his truck.

"I think it needs to. If this place continues to exist past my enlistment, someone else might be appointed to run Project Shepherd. But the more it costs to start it up again, the harder that would be. The more friction we introduce, the safer we all are. People who like conspiracies always think the world is frictionless, but little gets done if you make it very, very hard to do it. Removing Caulfield from play will deal a blow to my family's legacy -- our families' legacy -- that they will never recover from." He glanced at Kyle, "And that's something that needs to happen."

Kyle nodded, rubbing his hands up-and-down his arms. "What does it feel like, when they're powering themselves off of you?"

Alex closed his eyes, a slow smile moving across his mouth as he tried to find words.

Maria huffed: "I'm getting the impression Alex's experience might be a bit different from ours."

Alex opened his eyes, flushing a little. "It didn't feel like being someone's battery. It felt -- safe. Connected. Like we were, building something. I was blindfolded at the time --"

Kyle raised his hands to his ears -- "I do not need to hear this --"

"Shhhhh, maybe I do -- " Maria interjected with a gentle leer. 

Alex spoke over them: "I think if you close your eyes, and trust the person you're with, it will be ok."

He heard the rumble of Michael's truck and turned to look. It felt like a hook in his gut, Michael coming here. He didn't want this, in a ground-truth way. He didn't want to see Michael's face when he realized how close he'd been, how much his family had been hurt. Who had hurt them. There was knowing, and there was seeing.

When he'd been healing in Germany before being transferred back to the states, he'd gone on a tour of concentration camps. They were offered to all of the soldiers, to get them out into the sunshine, outside the walls of the base. He had been in a wheel chair, but it was accessible.

He remembered the look on the faces of his comrades whose grandparents had been killed there, who had lost aunts, uncles, great-aunts, great-uncles. Heard the stories from survivors who came there to tell people, with their own eyes, their own faces, what they had seen. What it had meant.

What happened at Caulfield wasn't the Holocaust, but it was an attempt at genocide. It was a child's wish that the survivors wouldn't have to confront it again, that anything could change without full knowledge. But it was a child's wish Alex couldn't help but hold onto, like he'd wished he could see himself in the stained glass windows of the cathedrals they had visited on another day, rather than the eyes of dead and dying saints.

Liz's face was the first one he saw, reflecting the starlight, bright and brittle under the overhead light as she helped Vila with her seatbelt. Michael's was shaded; no dome light working in the truck. Mara and Jamarsh slid out from the passenger side, arms around themselves.

Alex stepped forward, and they each opened their arms for an embrace.

Vila pulled away and turned her face, spitting in the grey stone of the parkinglot.

She said a word in Antaran and Alex didn't need a dictionary or a cultural primer to know it was an ugly curseword. He stepped closer to Michael, whose entire body was stiff, eyes never leaving the shadow-faced prison.

"I'm going to drive everyone to their positions, since my truck's the highest jacked to get over the sage-brush."

Alex nodded. "Eight in the back?"

Michael nodded and Alex began helping the elders up into the truck bed. In the center of the truck bed were nine huge sacks of seeds that Mara had bought wholesale with Mimi's help and suggestions -- enough to seed the whole 5 acres of the Caulfield complex. They got started wordlessly; everyone knew the plan. Everyone wanted to get it over with. 

Mara pulled the through-window into the cab open with her powers, murmuring to Michael and Alex where to stop as they made the slow circle around the prison. He and Alex were the last ones out, nearly back at the front gate. They had agreed to start at midnight.

Michael had barely been able to look away from the building the entire circling drive, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his scars looked like rope across his knuckles.

They paused in the quiet of the night, letting the engine tick down from 11:54pm. Alex kept his hands in his lap.

"Did you ever want Max to heal it?" He asked, voice quiet. He didn't know why he was asking, why now. But there was something about watching Mara and the others so actively try to heal, try to use their powers to move forward, that made the question simmer to the top.

Michael looked over at him, turning his scarred hand this way and that in the starlight as it filtered through the truck's front window.

"I did -- over and over. I wanted to ask. I wanted it not to hurt, to be able to work kinds of jobs where you need two good hands," he sucked in a breath, stretching his fingers out with a wince, "It was a reminder, for a long time, not to hope. Not to trust hope. And then it needed to stay the same, to not reveal our secret. But now --"

Alex waited, trying to give him space to think it through himself, "But now -- I  _do_ hope. I  _do_ trust. Not just you, though you more than anyone. But the others -- the elders, the humans. I can trust Max and Isobel again. And I don't want to lose that history, that memory, though I appreciate my Mom's help in it not ripping us to pieces as badly. Right now there is other stuff going on. But," he scrubbed his hand over his face, "Yeah. Maybe. Someday. Maybe before we go to space. I'd like to see the stars whole, or as whole as we're going to go. What about you -- if Max could heal your leg, would you want him to?"

Alex frowned, looking down at his prosthetic, his lips twisting. "There's a big debate, in the disability rights community, about whether it's ok to talk about curing, or healing, the things that make us different. And the thing is -- we're not homogenous. It's harmful and bigoted and insulting to talk about 'curing' someone who's neurodivergent; but for someone who has cancer, a 'cure' is all they might want. Amputees have a lot of different kinds of feelings. It's -- complex." He looked over at Michael. "I honestly don't know. For me. I don't think it's liable to come up, since I think healing old wounds is harder than new."

Michael nodded: "That's the other reason I haven't asked, with my hand. When the only way we've ever drawn power makes using it feel like torture, asking Max to torture himself for me felt --"

"Yeah." Alex said. The clock ticked to 11:59pm. "Ready to get out?

Michael nodded, pushing his door open and slipping onto the gravelly-sand.

Alex stepped around the front of the truck, hand on the turquoise paint, seeing how the starlight turned it silver. With the prison lights down, the desert around it was painted in shades of grey around them. Michael stepped around the side, and Alex -- Alex knew they would have to touch, for this to work, but he -- he didn't want to mix-up the pain and the hurt and the anguish and the soft, kind, gentle thing they've spent months building between them. He didn't want their love to be one more victim of this place, to be in any way tainted by it.

So he stood still. Even when he felt the power building, saw the dust around the building beginning to move. He stood still and waited, waited for Michael to make the first move, to touch him.

And when he did, it's just the brush of a pinky. Just the barest sliver of rough scarred skin against crutch-calloused skin. Then Michael's fingers were against his palm, sliding to fill the empty spaces in between, wrists pressed together, blood pumping hard and harder as their lungs and hearts found a synch. Then Michael was turning, giving the prison his back, putting himself between Alex and it, trusting Alex to be his eyes. He tugged Alex to him and Alex went, oh, he will always go to that pull, the gravity Michael brings with him. Michael's hand was his hair, their foreheads pressed together, grounding himself and it's like standing on the other side of a door to a symphony, hearing the sound of the music coming from just the other side, but waiting, waiting for the queue. Alex smelled the home smells of Michael, sweeping his thumb across the flat of his scarred palm, tucking it in close and there -- it was their queue.

Michael brought his lips to Alex's and they were surrounded, a rush of power, a rush of overflowing love and intention and grace. Alex's eyes flew opened at the first crack of concrete and he saw over Michael's shoulders -- he saw Caulfield  _bloom_.

It was like a desert rose, petals opening up, the great walls shivering away from their foundations and hovering, piece by piece. One after another, half of then disintegrated, crumbling into dust and burrowing deep, deep into the ground, turning the hard stone plates of the aquifer into a permeable surface that would allow the water to rise in carefully-targeted artisanal springs. One moment the glass all shattered, those hard, cruel surfaces crumbling to fine, sparkling dust, following the gravel-ground concrete into the soil, adding grit and in-fill. The other half stood, hanging in the night air, turning gently on their axes.

The plastics -- the chairs, the tables and whiteboards and coffee-makers -- they flared, Max's power foisting itself across their nerve endings like licking a nine-volt battery, and then they were pipes to move the water beneath the ground, to circulate water near the seed pods in their underground greenhouse. The pipes laid themselves on the ground in careful arrangements and then the dust shivered, shaking, licking and slipping its way over them, burying them down in the dark. The heat from Max and Liz was hotter when it came to melting the rebar, Michael hissing with it as it flicked flame-tongued across their skin. But then it passed and there they were -- the great metal doors to the engine's room, widened with a groaning, dust-filled sweep of ground and concrete. No one would be able to access the ship while they were building it without telekinesis or one heck of a crane, even if someone could find it. 

The great walls had been gently floating, turning in the air, this entire time, and now they were segmenting, shifting, turning on their sides, laying themselves down in winding, pale-shimmering paths and grottos and overhangs; into raised beds and sunken gardens; into benches and resting areas, and slopes that moved with the flow of the land but still declared: this is a made place, one that was cared for.

And all that were left then were the foundations, the great rebar stacks shoved deep in the earth. Mara guided them up, up, up, out of the ground, and then they were twisting, twining in the air, meters and meters of rust-red rebar, glittering in the starlight, twirling and torquing, humming with tension as they all wove it together, turning it into a great, arching canopy. She'd said it would allow her to grow plants that needed shade, but Alex thought there was something about justice in it too, the idea of taking the stakes that had held Caulfield secure to the thick darkness of the ground and exposing them, forever and alone, to the bright desert light.

And then it was -- nearly done. The dust was settling, the starlight showing the beautiful shapes, and Alex began to pull away when Michael gasped: "No, not yet --"

Then Alex remembered -- it was to be a garden. The seed bags behind them in the truck began to rise, all nine of them, and in a dance far more delicate, far more exacting than anything they had done tonight. They rose and trailed themselves across the landscape.  Ajamete and chuparosa, candelilla and zauschneria, mesa gregga and plume tiquilia, bright cenizos and scented salvia, shy guayule and extravagant damianita. They planted them all.

Then they pulled the water up through the new drains, drenching the soil and all of the people now standing in the midst of a massive garden with fresh water from deep in the earth. It was cold but as it settled the dust in the air and the scent of petrichor rose up around them, perfuming Michael's hair and Alex's clothes, he could smell how clean it made things. How much like a transition a rainstorm brings, even one created with alien gifts.

When the rain stopped, when the connection broke, they both found themselves sagging against each other, like the arches of the ceiling of a cathedral that must have weight to give height, because a cathedral is a thing that must lean against itself to rise. 

In his head, Alex heard Mara's voice, soft and sure, like a final prayer: _"We have always been most powerful when we are giving ourselves to others who are giving themselves to us."_

And then, in a long breath, she was gone from their minds. They were just two men, in their own bodies, gasping and holding each other up, drenched to the bone with water from an ancient aquifer, breathing down the last of the power and the tension.

Too soon for Alex's overwhelmed lungs, Michael pulled back, bracing himself on Alex's shoulder: "We should gather everyone up and get home."

Alex nodded, knotting his hand in Michael's shirt.

"Look at it with me. Just for a minute."

And they looked out. None of the plants would be sprouting for weeks, or maybe months, but here and now, he could overlay what he knew of Mara's plan. And he could see where they would grow, spiny and spiky, colorful and twisted, bright and blossoming and weird. He could see where the water would run, how they would have to take a winding path to get to the massive camouflaged doorways concealing where the ship would lie, how the scented plants would come to brush them, greet them, cover them as they passed. He could see it all, as clear as the multi-colored starlight on the desert floor.

"It'll be beautiful," Alex said, and he could nearly hear Michael smile.

"It'll be _ours_."

\--

Everyone warmed up on the truck rides home, Alex and Michael tight against each other in the cab of his truck. 

They didn't speak, too worn out and wired and overwhelmed, but Alex tapped on one of the songs Mara had found and let it fill the air on the drive home:

> You taught me the courage of stars before you left  
>  How light carries on endlessly, even after death  
>  With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite  
>  How rare and beautiful it is to even exist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are wonderful! They make my entire day. Thank you all so much!
> 
> The song at the end is Sleeping At Last's "Saturn" -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEnkgfe6jTM


	30. Zero Weeks, Zero Days, Zero Hours, Three Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Final chapter of this piece. We will fully, completely, and triple earn our rating here, friends.
> 
> I've got a sequel planned out, but it will probably be a bit before I dive into it. 
> 
> I have so valued all of the comments and ideas and feedback I've gotten on this fic. It's honestly been the best fandom experience I've ever had, and I started out in like 1999 printing-out Buffy/Spike fic from ff.net so I could read it on camping trips. Thank you so much to everyone who has made this such a joy.

At 11:57pm, Alex Manes heard Michael Guerin's truck come up the road to the house. He was wearing his jeans and his workshirt, since Michael's plan had only given him rough outlines of what to expect. He said civvies would be most appropriate. The elders had relocated to Isobel's for the next few days, with no small amount of ribbing from everyone involved.

For whatever reason, Michael had decided months ago the deadline had to be midnight, the Sunday night after his last day as an Airman. So aside from self-defense class, Alex had spent the entire day working himself up into a lather about this. Michael had given him hints and descriptions; they'd talked about what they wanted. And, being real, so much had changed, had gotten better between them -- twelve weeks before, they hadn't been able to talk, Alex had been too afraid of his father's shadow and all of their shared mistakes to come to Michael's trailer except at midnight when he was desperate.  Michael hadn't had a realistic plan to get home, hadn't had a place to do his work. Alex hadn't had a home and Michael hadn't had one to share with him. They hadn't contained Jesse Manes, destroyed Project Shepherd, saved Michael's family, or turned a nightmare legacy into a vast desert garden. Neither of them had had a home. Not really.

Alex glanced at the box they'd bought together in Albuquerque, sitting on the table.Inside was the deed to the house, awaiting Michael's signature. He'd covered everything else with the lawyer six weeks ago. He'd just been waiting to get to this point.

He'd thought, more than a couple of times, he should have rings ready. But he wanted that to be something that they talked about first. He got that some people liked surprise proposals, but Michael and he both liked plans, and he wanted to talk about it with him. Maybe they could propose to each other at the same time.

Alex figured Michael was sitting in his truck, waiting out the last 90 seconds. Alex closed his eyes, thinking about all of the things they'd talked about. They had enough food for a couple of days in the house, fresh fruit in the bowl, leftovers from last week's stew in the freezer. There were even flowers on the table, courtesy of Isobel. Somehow, she'd gotten wind of what the timeline was and had come by to do what she'd called an "Instagram inspection" of the house that morning. They'd had her over dozens times in the past couple months, but there was something comforting about watching her walk around the space, admire all the things that Michael had done individually and together to make it the kind of home-base they could build from. She'd admired the rugs, the couch, the curving walk to the hot spring, like she was seeing it whole and for the first time.

She'd paused at the photo frames in the hallway, tapping a clean nail against the one of him and Michael playing guitars together in the desert.

"Now that," she said with a smile, "would have been great for the reunion slideshow."

After Isobel had left, Alex had gone to the hot spring and swum around. He'd paid his credit cards. He changed all the sheets and pillow cases. He'd cleaned again. He'd taken an exceptionally detailed bath, getting his body ready for what he thought was in the plan. After dinner, he'd started reading his way through the _Song of Achilles_ ; it was more on-topic than he might otherwise have hoped.

He heard the truck door open and heard Michael's boots in the soft sand of the driveway. Alex stood on the other side of the door. He heard his boots come up the steps. He knocked and Alex flung open the door.

And there he was. Absolutely perfection in a pair of cowboy boots, his hat slung low on his forehead, his thumb hanging from his belt-loop. Alex was breathless. Michael tipped his head up, looked him in the eye, smiling, and Alex realized he was wearing a black tie over his black button-up. Alex grabbed it and tugged him into the room, smacking the door closed behind him and pressing him flat against it. Michael removed his hat, tossing it to the side. 

Mouths connected, hands hot on each other. Michael opened for him so sweetly, mouth moving around his, hands on Alex's hips, hauling him in tight against him. The kiss built and built, and Alex felt like he was running towards a cliff because they weren't going to stop this time. They were going to keep going.

He started tugging Michael's shirt out of his pants, hand aching for his skin, and Michael slowed the kiss. Alex let out a grunt of frustration before he got ahold of himself. His hands went to Michael's shoulders.

"Ok," he said, "Ok. I'm here. You're here. What are we going to do?"

Michael was smiling, his eyes full of starshine. "Well," he said, "I had a plan, but, honestly, I don't think we're going to be able to think straight until we're through at least round one."

Alex sagged against him a little bit, the thought of multiple _rounds_ doing something special in him.

"So," he said, "couch, bed, table?"

"Let's go with the bed," Michael said.

Alex nodded, taking a step back. Michael pulled him closer again, lips close to his ear. "I'm going to get you ready," hands sliding down his hips. "You're going to be so, very ready for me. I'm going to work you open and we're going to take our time and it's going to feel so good. And, after, when you're ready, we're going to try these,"

And he pulled a skein of turquoise rope out of his back jeans pocket. "And I've got these a couple of weeks ago," and he pulled out a pair of safety shears out of the same pocket. "And then I'm going to get to really take my time. Sound like a good plan?"

"Yeah," Alex whispered. "But somewhere in there I need my mouth on you."

"I like it," he said, he paused, before gesturing down the hallway. "Lead the way."

Alex's room was warm and comfortable, but Alex was too hot to enjoy it. He put his hands under his shirt to begin to strip off but Michael hands pressed over his.

"Let me unwrap you," he said, a breathless, wicked grin across his face as he walked Alex back until his thighs hit the side of the bed. He bumped himself backwards, sitting as Michael stood between his thighs, warm and willing and _here_. He dipped down for a kiss, brushing his lips before beginning to work his way down his throat, then moving to unbutton his shirt, leaving a kiss on every bit of smooth skin exposed and all Alex could do was clutch the sheets and try to breathe.

Once he was was unbuttoned, Michael smoothed his palms from the bottom of Alex's abdomen all the way up and over his shoulders, running his shirt back off of him. He dropped his hands to Alex's lap, Alex hissing at the pressure. Michael gave him one long, slow rub through his pants before beginning to work on his belt buckle.

Michael carefully stripped down his pants. They worked together to get the prosthetic off, the skin under it clean, healthy, muscles strong. Alex was now entirely naked and Michael was still wearing his cowboy boots. Alex felt breathless, heart pounding, as Michael ran his hand down his thighs, starting with the stump and working to the other side.

Alex felt his cock swell, throbbing at the closeness. Michael trailed his fingers back up his torso, hands on his shoulders when he murmured: "You gonna help me out?"

Alex yanked his tie loose, pulling it over Michael's head, ruffling his hair wildly in the process. Michael laughed and he started working down his buttons from the top while Alex worked from the bottom. He shrugged off the shirt, letting it pool in a dark puddle on the floor. Alex rested his hands on his hips and he couldn't help himself, kissing the apex where his ribs met, kissing down, following the trail of hair, smelling the sweet, sun warmed smells of him, hands greedy on his sides.

He finally slipped his hands down over the back of Michael's jeans and grabbed two nice round handfuls of his ass and just, enjoyed the feel of getting to. Michael bucked forward, belt-buckle nearly clipping Alex in the chin.

"Sorry, sorry," he said.

Alex looked up at him, feeling a hot storm in his eyes, saying: "You're going to be sorry if you don't get these pants off _immediately_."

"Yeah," Michael said, breathless. "Meet you at the top of the bed."

Alex scrambled back, unable to take his eyes off as Michael undid his belt, pulled it all the way out of the loops, laying it on the floor. He unbuttoned and zipped himself down. And he -- Alex's hand froze as he fumbled for the lube in the side table drawer -- he wasn't wearing any kind of underwear. He had never known Michael to go without, but the sight of him was something, curving up proudly towards his navel as Michael shoved his way out of his pants, getting stuck halfway and stumbling as he had to get himself out of his boots first, cursing.

Ales felt a smile flick across his lips. This was more than he could ever have imagined.

Alex sat-up, legs folded down, knowing Michael was getting a full view and feeling strangely shy about it, but trusting.

Michael -- finally free of his boots, belt, and denim -- crawled up the bed, body moving like he had muscles in places he couldn't, until he was kneeling between Alex's spread thighs.

"Are you ready, love?" he said. 

Alex held up the lube and Michael took it, but set it gently to the side. "A couple more minutes," he said, "I just want to touch you first."

"Ok," Alex breathed.

Michael ran his hands up either side of Alex's hips, thumbs close, close, but not touching his dick where it sat hard against his stomach. Michael breathed out, breath sounding harsh.

"I just," he said, "I just don't know where to start,"

Alex smiled, grabbing his left hand, pressing it over his heart. "You've got me. Whatever we do, you've got me."

Michael made a high, needy sound and then he was on him. Alex's legs locking around his hips, hand on his nape pressing their faces closer together, Michael's hand were everywhere, stroking down Alex's neck, rubbing across his chest, hitching his hips up and closer. The first time their dicks slid together, Alex thought he was going to have a heart attack, body bucking, trying to hold still, trying not to start something, because he really, really did want Michael inside him.

Michael began to kiss his way down his chest. Alex reached above his head, holding onto the wrought-iron headboard they had bought together.

"Ok," he said, "Ok."

Michael's mouth was at his belly button when he heard the click of the lube.

He was clean and these sheets were shot no matter what they did, and the value of Goodwill sheets were it was only $2 to replace them if they really fucked them up.

Michael rubbed his hands together, getting the lube across his palm and the scruff of his chin brushed the tip of Alex's dick and he just, he had to press his hips back down. It was a little rough but any sensation was more than he'd had from another person in three months.

"Easy, easy," Michael said. "I'm going to," he looked down at Alex's dick and Alex nodded:

"Yeah, yeah,"

He started with a closed-mouth kiss and Alex was _gone_ , curling up towards him, body moving to a rhythm that was hard to explain. He forced himself to hold his body mostly still except for the shaking in his hands.

Michael slipped his left hand up, finding Alex's wrist and gripping it, fingers running up and down the inside of his wrist, pressing to find the pulse as he kissed his way down Alex's cock, before opening his mouth and just taking him down whole.

Alex's mind was wild and unfocused, bouncing from place to place, barely keeping his body in some semblance of control. Michael swallowed around him and then came up to the top, breathing easily through his nose, and then back down. His lube-covered palm came up to the base, holding him tight, and the contrast of that soft, wet heat and the calloused palm could have been enough to take him over, but Alex pinched his own shoulder, forced himself to stay here. He wanted to wait until Michael was inside him.

Michael slipped his lubed hand down between Alex's cheeks, not trying to push them aside, just getting them both reacquainted with the fit. Alex took a breath, told himself to relax. He felt Michael's middle finger press towards him and oh, the sensation of even that small bit of him inside was something that he couldn't remember if he'd just blocked out how good it felt or if it felt better than it had before. It was just absolutely amazing.

His other fingers started to get close to going in and Michael pulled himself off of his cock, looking up at him. Alex felt his cheeks heat, which was _ridiculous_ given the circumstances.

Michael's voice was wrecked when he said: "You, you got ready for me?"  
  
Alex smiled and nodded.

"Oh, fuck Alex, you're going to be the fucking death of me."

"Never. Only life."

Michael's face broke open and Alex curled forward, giving him a rough, sloppy kiss. He could _taste_ himself on his tongue, the salt and the sweat and the warmth of him. Then Michael's fingers moved inside of him, and he felt his cock jerk.

"Get inside me," he said, and he could feel it building, with every push of Michael's fingers.

Michael poured more lube over himself, sliding down until he was kneeling, Alex's legs tucked closely around his sides.

He put his hand Alex's hip, nudging it up, and Alex yanked a pillow down to press under his hips. Michael looked down at him, eyes wide.

"Ready?"

Alex nodded. Michael's hand moved down and he positioned himself at Alex's entrance. Alex took a breath and then he was sliding inside and the stretch -- it was incredible. Hot and slick and wet and pressure, and this overwhelming feeling of being home, of being held and protected and safe. And then full, so full as Michael bottomed-out inside of him.

Michael's eyes were wild with it, his hands fluttering across Alex's chest as he pulled back out, slid in again, bottoming out and Alex hissed a breath out. Michael paused, checking-in --

"Are you -- did I --"

"I'm good, you're good. I don't know if I've ever felt anything better,"

Michael nodded, voice cracked: "I'm not sure how long I'm going to last like this," he said and Alex laughed.

"I could have come 10 minutes ago in my pants against the door. I can go whenever you do, love."

Then Michael curled over him, hands working between them, gripping Alex and establishing a slick rhythm.

"Oh, oh God," Alex guttered out.

Michael's lips were on his, his tongue in his mouth, and that feeling of Michael inside of him and his tongue inside of Michael's mouth and Michael's hands around him -- he just lost it, body bucking, Michael matching him thrust for thrust. Michael started to go right after Alex reached his peak, his hands stilling on him before tucking up and under his arms, a low groan filling Alex's mouth. They moved together and it was like launching himself into a star, all heat and impossible light and furious brilliance.

Michael slowed and stopped, his hands still moving on Alex's skin, his breath still hot. He held there for a long moment, breathing harsh. Alex's hand gently smoothed between his hair and his shoulder.

His voice was cracked when he said: "You ready?"

Alex nodded and Michael pulled himself out, keeping himself tight to keep as much of the mess inside as possible, Michael groaning with the sensation. He pulled himself up but rather than laying side-by-side the way they'd done in the past, he flopped full and entirely on Alex. Alex hugged his stump around the back of Michael's thighs, letting him settle down between them. He was still a little sensitive, but feeling like Michael boneless and sweaty and warm, laying on him made it feel like his heart could expand to fill the entire universe.

Once they'd cooled down a little bit, Michael rolled to the side, pillowing his head on Alex's chest, as his hand smoothed up and down his arm.

"What do you say to a snack and some water and then right back at it?" Michael asked.

Alex looked down at him, body flush with oxytocin, every part of him warm and tingly and some no small amount wet. 

"Sounds like a plan," he said.

Michael cleaned-up in the bathroom a bit and then brought back some grapes and two glasses of water. They both drank them and then Michael gently propped the empty glasses and bowl beside the bed.

Alex looked at him curiously. 

Michael smirked: "The next bit may get a little athletic. I don't want to be cleaning-up glass while you're still tied to the bed."

Alex felt his eyes widen. They'd _talked_ about it; of course they'd talked about it. They'd figured out what they wanted and how they wanted it, but they hadn't _done_ it. He'd never given Michael any kind of control, other than the kind of control two people in love give each other day-to-day.

"Sounds good," he said.

"So, just like we talked about, I'm going to be telling you what to do, but if you want me to pause --"

"I'll give you a yellow."

"And if you want us to stop everything --"

"I'll give you a red."

"And, uh, we hadn't talked about it, so it's fine if you dan't want to, but sometimes communicating verbally can be a little hard for us," he moved off the bed and pulled a piece of deep blue ribbon with a bell on the end from his jeans' pocket.

"If your mouth is otherwise occupied, or you just can't get to the words, you drop that on the floor, and that's the same as red."

He lowered the ribbon into Alex's palm, pressing it in. The ridges of the bell indented the soft sides of his thumb.

"Did you steal this from Isobel's Christmas box?" he asked.

Michael looked away and then looked back: "She'll never know."

Alex huffed, putting his thumb between the stopper and the outside of the bell when he moved his hand.

"You better hope she doesn't."

Michael laughed and took a breath.

"You want to clean-up or --"

Alex shook his head, words a little hard to fine, "The feeling of you in me, it's, uh, it's nice."

He tried to think of the words they'd learned to talk about this together: "I feel yours and wanted and good. And I don't want to pause."

Michael brushed his hand down through Alex's hair, trailing down the side of his cheek. "I will say this a dozen times tonight; count them if you don't believe me. You are good, Alex Manes."

Alex felt his stomach flip and then Michael leaned back.

"Ok, are you ready?"

Alex nodded. Something seemed to come over Michael's face. A kind of balance? Something like authority?

Alex had been wondering what roles they would play, once the ship was up and running. He'd figured Michael for an engineer or a science officer. But the way his shoulders filled out the air around them, the definitive way he looked down at Alex -- it didn't feel like play-acting. It felt like Michael had taken off the cowboy costume and put on a starship captain's uniform.

"Alright, Alex," he said, "hands-up, grip the headboard."

Alex felt a surge of wanting to argue, explain that he couldn't, not and keep the bell steady. Then he saw the gleam in Michael's eye and he realized this kind of fiddly control stuff was exactly how Michael was going to get him where he needed to go.

He pinched the side of the bell between his thumb and his forefinger and then gripped the headboard with the other three, then looked at Michael.

"I'm not using the blindfold tonight, because I want you to see what's coming."

Alex nodded. 

"Color check?" Michael said, as he backed off the bed.

"Green," Alex smiled, watching him search his pockets for the rope.

"Remind me what the rules were, while I get these ready."

Alex closed his eyes: "Rule one: No sex until I'm a civvie. Rule two: We tell our families. Rule three: no sleepovers unless one of us really needs it. Rule four: we go on real dates. Rule five: communicate." He grinned and he felt it fill his entire face. "I think we did it."

Michael's smile was sweet and perfect: "We did, love."

Then he crawled-up the bed, rope in hand. Michael looped the rope around Alex's wrists, wrapping it so no part of Alex was touching the metal of the headboard and no part of Alex could get out. Alex's brain was running, trying to work on the puzzle: how was he going to get out? 

He wanted to touch Michael, but he couldn't. He tugged at the ropes, considering.

Michael moved Alex's thighs together and sat down on them, weight holding him steady.

"I'm going to count to thirty. Prove to yourself that you can't get out."

And Alex tugged once, not using much of his muscle. His brain was still running wild, trying to figure out how they were going to make this work, what they would do if it got awkward, how he was going to handle it.

"You can do better than that, sweetheart," Michael said.

Alex tugged again and then something in the lizard part of his brain began to hum. A quiet static rising up and over all the panicked, swirling thoughts that made-up the background noise of his day-to-day life. He tugged harder and harder, thrashing with his full strength, Michael on his thighs so he couldn't get overbalanced, but not touching him anywhere else.

With every tug, the ropes stayed how Michael had put them. Not getting tighter, not getting looser. Alex felt his breath kick up, but then, when he felt the first trickle of sweat down his back, he relaxed. He was here. He was where Michael put him. Michael was going to take care of him and he could wait for Michael to decide how to do that.

There was a look of wonder on Michael's face as he looked down, and Alex looked calmly back up at him, eyes meeting simply, open and without expectation. His hands were on Alex's hips and he kissed him, Alex shoving his tongue up into his mouth. Just because his body was passive didn't mean all of him had to be. Michael returned it, hands rising to hold Alex's face, hands tight and firm. 

"There you are," he said, smiling.

"I'm going to touch you, and," he looked Alex over, thinking through something, "And you're not going to come until I say so."

Alex gulped. They'd talked about this -- but there was talking and there was doing.

"Alright, now before we get started, I want to make sure you still have that bell."

Alex nodded, making sure the flat of his thumb was on the clapper.

"Perfect. Can you slide down a little bit for me --"

Alex slid forward under Michael until his arms were stretched high above his head. Not enough to change his circulation, but to put his mouth a little bit closer to hip-height.

"Stunning," Michael said, looking him over. "I know you said you wanted to put your mouth on me."

Alex felt a dirty smile move across his face.

"Well, you've been good so you get what you want first."

Michael crawled up Alex's chest until his cock was just within reach. Alex couldn't grip it or pull it closer to him. He just had to sit and wait. Michael ran his hands up and down the soft undersides of his arm and slipped his thumb into Alex's mouth, asking: "Are you ready?"  


Alex nodded. He slipped the tip of his cock in between Alex's lips. The taste was clean, since he'd cleaned-up in the bathroom, with just a hint of the soap that Michael liked the smell of at the Dollar store. He had the soft head of him in his mouth, licking and sucking, watching Michael's face move, going slack with pleasure and then coming back, attentive again.

Michael braced his left hand on top of the solid headboard and leaned forward, never giving Alex more than he could take, but filling him up, working his way down his throat until Alex's eyes were watering, his jaw soft and slack around him. Michael pulled back, then moved in again, going so deep his ballsack was touching Alex's chin. Alex's nose was buried in the wiry hair at the base of his cock.

Alex held his lips as tight as he could, working his length with his tongue.

Michael groaned: "Oh, you are so good. We could just do this all day," Alex must have made an involuntary noise, because Michael said: "We're not going to, but we do have a bit of time before we move to the next phase."

He slid back out and in again -- the ridges and wetness and taste and touch of him, slow and inexorable. Michael's hands were stroking through his hair, in company with his rhythm. Alex watched the slow, muscled roll of his hips, watched the muscles move across his chest, breathing through his nose. Michael slid all the way in, until Alex was breathing tight against his body.

"If I just sat here, how long do you think we could do this for? Me here, you keeping me warm, us together."

Alex didn't have any way of answering, but before he could start to worry about it, Michael said: "But we're not going to." He pulled himself all the way out, bending over Alex so that their mouths pressed together, his tongue filling the space he'd left.

"Color check?"

"Green," and his voice came out so fucked that if he'd bottled it, just the hint of it would give him a hard-on for days. The bells were still secure in his hand.

"Because you're so good --"

"No," Alex heard himself say. 

Michael pulled back, "'No' what?"

"Not red," Alex said, trying to figure out why he'd said that.

Michael frowned. Alex heard the words coming out of his mouth, not really meaning to say them: "I'm not good. You keep saying that. It's not true."

Michael crouched down around him, body tight, hands gentle on his face. "Love, you are good. I keep telling you that because it's true."

"No," Alex said, his voice hoarse. "I've hurt people, I've hurt _you_ , I'm _not good."_

"Love," Michael said and Alex, the small part of him that was still working on anything other than the purely limbic could hear the sound of heartbreak in his voice.

"Love, you _are_ good. You don't have to be perfect to be good. You can just be you."

"I'm _not_ ," Alex said, voice shaking, "And you shouldn't say it, because I'm not."

"Alex --" Michael started.

"Green, I'm green, let's go --"

Michael's hand came firm on his jaw, tilting him up until he had to meet his eyes. The room was blurry, and Alex wasn't --

"Love, I need you to give me your real color. I don't need to be impressed. I don't need you to be strong. I need to know your actual color."

Alex dropped the bells.

Michael hauled himself off of him, kneeling at the side of the bed, hands flat on his chest. Alex could breathe easily again, scooting himself up in the bed.

"Ok," Michael said, sounding super-worried. "What do you need?"

Alex shook his head angrily: "I don't -- I just don't think I'm _good_."

"Love, I'm not going to argue with you about it. If you need me to stop saying it, I can stop saying it, but you're upset and I want you to be ok."

"I _am_ ok," Alex said, frustration rising, "I just --" he hitched a breath.

Michael said: "Dropping the bells meant red and that's what we're going with." 

He pulled the ropes off Alex's wrists and tossed it in the corner. He climbed gently over Alex to sit beside him, putting a pillow firmly over his still-wet cock. He didn't touch him, but Alex couldn't stand to be physically apart, even for a couple of moments.

"Do you want to --"

And Alex curled over his lap, rubbing his wrists lightly, trying to breathe.

He didn't think he was _crying_ it was just --

Michael's hands were soft and soothing on his back. "It's ok. I've got you. You're ok."

Alex huddled in closer, his body small around him, as Michael's hand stroked from his hip to his shoulder and back again. He could hear Michael breathing slowly, easing himself down the bed, pillow still firmly in his lap, and Alex moved on top of his chest, hands hitching under his shoulders and holding on as he focused on breathing, body shaking.

Michael just kept repeating: "You're ok, you're ok, you're ok. I've got you. You're here. You're ok," voice calm and steady.

Alex felt his analytical mind rise back up and he felt a flush of embarrassment. Something must have changed in his body because Michael tweaked his ear.

"Hey, if you're back, and ok, we can talk about that. We can do other stuff tonight. We don't have to finish or we can be done. I'm here for you, not for some particular carnival ride."

Alex looked up at him and he was so, so beautiful from that angle, all sex-fluffed hair and soft, smiling eyes.

"I just," Alex said, "I like it when you say that I'm good."

"But there's some part of you that doesn't believe it?"

"Yeah."

Michael cocked his head, smile fond: "Gosh, Alex Manes doesn't always think he's the good guy. News at 11."

Alex laughed, burying his face in Michael's stomach. "I was having so much _fun_ ," he said with frustration, "It was _good_. You tasted good and the ropes were good and --"

Michael smoothed his hand over the back of his head. "It's not like we can custom order how our brains work. If the word 'good' doesn't work for you, then we can try something else or we can work our way up or -- we'll figure it out."

Alex huffed in irritation. He was starting to work his way up to saying he wanted to try again when Michael said: "It's got to be, what, like 1 in the morning? That sounds like the perfect time for hot chocolate."

Alex raised his eyebrows. "Are you trying to distract me with sugar?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. Let's go."

He hopped off the side of the bed, handing Alex his cane and his sleeping pants.

Alex took a stop-off in the bathroom to clean-up a bit and met Michael in the kitchen. As the water was heating, Michael knelt on the thick rug in front of the fire, getting it going.

Alex watched him, naked as the day he hatched, could see his brain working around the problem like a puzzle. Alex was still breathing through it, a lot of feelings and emotions coming from what they'd just done, warming his hands on his sort-of-borrowed Crashdown Cafe mug. He was sitting on his stool when Michael came to prop his hip against the corner, body soft in the low light, sipping his cocoa.

"Better?" He asked and Alex hummed his agreement.

He tipped his head onto Michael's shoulder, eyes landing on the turquoise inlaid box in the middle of the table.

"Close you eyes," Alex said and Michael set down his mug, a smile moving across his face, hands out and palms up.

Alex maneuvered over to the box with the rails, tucking it under his arm and getting back to Michael.

"It's heavy."

"Is it." Michael said, voice sly. 

Alex moved the stool over and braced himself so he could gently place the box in Michael's arms.

He made a small sound at the weight and Alex smiled.

"Ok, you can open them."

Michael was grinning before he opened his eyes, then he looked down at the box, a look of confusion moving across his face.

"I thought we got this together?"

"You have to open it," Alex said, impatient, and Michael glanced at him before shrugging and setting it on the counter, nudging his cocoa mug over.

Alex moved so he could see both into the box and Michael's face. The firelight echoed in his curls, making them shine and halo out around him, his bare chest a series of arcing lines Alex just wanted to trace with his fingertips or mouth. He forced himself to focus. They would have time for more later.

With a final glance over at him, Michael slipped the carved cedar up. He looked down at the folded piece of paper, frowning, and delicately opened it, turning to read it in the firelight.

Alex got his see his entire body freeze, every one of those perfect muscles turning to temporary stone. He held his breath. Michael had said no to this months ago, but he thought -- he'd hoped --

"Oh," Michael said, looking up at him, face soft, "Oh, Alex."

His voice was rough, face shifting, and then he was wrapping himself around Alex, arms banding tight, face buried in his neck, breathing harsh and jagged, like he was breathing around something tight in his chest.

"Alex -- " he started, but he didn't seem to be able to get any further with his thought.

Alex's voice was slow, quiet, as he said: "I know home is a hard idea. For both of us. But this is the best home I've ever had. And it's because of you. And if our real home is in the stars, well, then this is our first home. And since it's ours, both of ours, I wanted to make it official."

Michael laughed wetly against his neck.

"It's a lot," he said, arms still tight around him. Alex gentled his hand up and down Michael's back, sweeping with each slowing breath.

"You're here and we're each other's. You just need to sign it."

There was a pen from the UFO Emporium in the box. Alex reached over to snag it and nudged Michael away from him enough to hand it to him.

"You're sure?"

And he looked so unsure, still, even here, even now, trying to give Alex space to give him away.

Alex pressed the pen into his palm. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Michael's smile was tentative and bright and _real_. He turned to the page marked with the "Sign-Here" yellow sticky, careful with the loops and curls of his signature. He pulled the pen away and looked at it.

"I have a home," he said, and the words were like great stones in a still pond, tumbling and building something unseen at the bottom, something closer and closer to the light.

"You are my home." Alex replied.

"And I'm yours," Michael returned.

Alex smiled, feeling it lighting-up his entire face.

Michael stepped into him and bent down to kiss him, hands soft on his shoulders, lips moving like a prayer against his. Alex felt something drop in his stomach, the feel of Michael, his touch, bringing all of the want back.

So when Michael pulled back, heat in his eyes and said: "I have an idea," he said, "If you're up for it we can try again."

Alex nodded so fast it made him a bit dizzy.

"Let's try it out here," Michael said.

"There's nothing we can tie the ropes to," Alex said and Michael shook his head.

"We can save the ropes for another time. Remember that morning in the Airstream, twelve weeks ago, just my hands on your wrists?"

Alex nodded, feeling his heart kick-up at the memory.

"How do you feel about fucking by firelight?"

Alex grinned, wicked and real.

Michael helped him to the rug and then carried armload after armload of bedding into the living room, until the rug was thickly layered and significantly softer than the actual bed.

He grandly motioned for Alex to take a seat on the fluffy pile and he did, slowly, laying his crutch to the side away from the fire.

Michael knelt down next to him, taking his hand in both of his, and pressed the bell into his palm.

"I know it's hard, but I need you to give me the color that you're actually feeling."

Alex nodded. He felt a lot more centered than he had and there was something about having successfully red-ed out that made him feel a level of confidence in this game he hadn't had before.

"Yes," Alex said.

"Are you ready?" Michael asked, looking in his eyes. 

"Green." Alex said and Michael surged forward, bowling him over backwards, hand behind his head to protect it in case Alex didn't tuck his chin, straddling his chest and capturing his wrists in a smooth motion.

"Hey -- " Alex started.

Michael smiled, warm body a solid weight on his stomach. "You are mine," he said, his voice hard and his hands firm around Alex's wrists, bell secure in his hand.

Alex felt his thinking mind sink like Michael had tied lead balloons to it, going soft and perfect.

"Yes," Alex said, body tingling with it, heart racing.

"Say it," Michael said.

"I'm yours."

"I'm going to fuck you, because you're mine."

"Yes," Alex said, voice rough.

Michael gathered Alex's wrists under one palm, grip firm but not rough pressure, reaching down between them for Alex's drawstring. Alex lifted up his hips to give him leverage to get the pants off entirely. 

The firelight was warm and physical, moving along beside them.

"I'm going to put myself in your mouth, ok? And you have the bell."

"Yes," Alex said.

"Good." He separated Alex's hands again, pushing pressure down. "But first, prove to yourself you can't get out."

"Michael --" he started. He'd taught getting out of wrist-holds like this a dozen times. They were close enough in size, he'd have no problem tossing him off.

"Alex, trust me. You're going to stay where I put you. To do that, you have to know I'm strong enough to keep you there." He adjusted his grip. "Right?"

"Michael, I --"

"Alex, I've got you."

Alex nearly rolled his eyes. Michael knew how to grapple but there was no amount of fighting skills that could make this work.

He tugged his wrist. It didn't move. He looked up at Michael, knowing his expression was startled. He tugged again. His wrists wasn't moving. He posted his strong leg, ready to throw Michael with his hips and -- nothing. His body was still flat to the floor. He frowned, trying it again.

There wasn't any kind of pressure or pain. He could feel his muscles straining, but they weren't --

Michael had a smirking twinkle in his eye. He sat back, folding his hands across his stomach and Alex found himself still where Michael had put him.

"You are where I put you," Michael said, "and unless you tell me different, you are going to stay there."

Alex felt his pupils blow wide in the firelight, Michael trembling and shimmering in his sight.

Michael leaned down to kiss him and Alex craned up to kiss him, a sweetness in the feeling.

"Change of plans," Michael said, "I've got you where I want you. I'm going to tell you what I love about you."

"Ok," Alex said, voice a little querulous.

Michael kissed his forehead: "I love that your head is so hard even an IED couldn't crack it."

Alex felt a smile quirk into the corner of his mouth. 

He kissed down to his throat. "I love that you are always raising your voice for people who can't fight back."

He kissed down to the center of his chest: "I love that your heart is so big, that you are always trying to protect people, even people who are sulky, teenaged messes."

"I was a sulky teenaged mess," Alex said.

"It takes one to know one, Alex." Michael said, grinning up his body at him.

He kissed over to his shoulder. "I love how strong you are and how you've kept yourself healthy and strong even when the world wanted you to be weak."

He reached up, pressing a kiss to the center of each of his palms: "I love how you make me feel, with these, and with your big, beautiful brain."

He kissed down to his hips: "I love that we get to touch each other again. I'm never, ever going to take it for granted. Never."

He pressed down to his knee, to the smooth skin over his stump: "I love every piece of you, here and missing."

Alex's breath caught. 

"I love everything that you were and are and will be."

He pressed his mouth just to the side of Alex's cock, so that Alex felt his breath move against it. Alex craned up, only his wrists held down, the rest of his body flexing and curving, following the heat of Michael's breath on his skin.

"You're mine and I'm yours."

Alex nodded. There was a sound of a tube of lube opening and he closed his eyes, breathing easy, expecting to feel Michael's hand. But he didn't. He felt Michael moving over him. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to see anything else every again.

Michael Guerin leaning over him, hand behind himself, stretching himself out, every line and curve of his perfect body highlighted in firelight, golden, powerful, gasping for breath.

"Ok, are you ready?"

Alex choked out: "God, yes,"

Michael ran his lubed hand up-and-down Alex's cock and knelt over him.

"You're mine," he said, sinking down, taking just the head first, body moving with a gasp.

"Oh, God, Alex, you're mine. I'm yours,"

"I'm yours," Alex said, words like a promise.

Michael worked his way onto him, Alex's hips shifting, moving, until he was fully sunk down, hands braced on Alex's chest, head bent forward, body heaving.

Alex twitched his hips and Michael groaned.

"Ok," Michael said. "Slow and steady. It's been a while."

Alex smiled, Michael moving his hand over his body, palming his pec, leaning forward to kiss him as Alex moved so, so slowly inside of him.

The tightness, the heat -- and the slack, luxuriant way Michael looked riding him, body fluid and strong, hard and soft, and utterly, entirely,  _his._

"This is everything," Michael murmured on a downstroke and Alex had to nod, his words feeling far away, on the other side of pleasure and love, too far to reach at this moment when they were so closely knit together.

Alex smiled, slow and lazy, every piece of his body lit up like the fire. He could feel something building, some kind of perfect explosion, some kind of massive thing moving inside of him.

Michael's breath started to catch and Alex jerked his hips up, crying out, and then they were in it again, a brutal rhythm, Michael collapsing forward over him, bodies wrapped around each other, pounding and pushing, and Alex had no idea where his body began and Michael's ended, just one loving, joyful thing they'd made together. 

"I'm so close," Michael said, "I just need --"

And Alex's wrists were free and he was up, banding his arms tight around Michael's back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life and it must have been the change in angle or the open-mouthed sweetness of Alex's mouth covering his, or how Alex whispered "I've got you," in between their kisses, and Michael was coming, painting Alex's chest and his in a sticky mess and Alex was following him right over the edge, body writhing and hot and perfect.

Alex lowered them down to their sides, pulling out carefully and Michael collapsed forward over him, body covering him, chests heaving together. Alex tucked him under his arm as Michael shuddered and shook. Alex had just enough energy left to flip the edge of the top blanket over them and fall into sleep, secure in the knowledge that he was home. They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, I would love to know what you liked about it. It makes me all kinds of delighted.
> 
> And come hang-out with me on tumblr -- I'm jocarthage over there too.


End file.
